Left of Reality
by RapunzelK
Summary: OC sidetrack involving Trinity Prime and cameos by the original "Incredibles" cast. A look at the same characters in a different setting. Some chapters are collaborations. Thanks to those who inspired and assisted.
1. True Colors

It wasn't that he didn't want to see her, it was that he didn't want to see her. It was the same reason he never wrote her but clipped articles about her from the paper and pasted them in a scrap book, why he'd never worn his singular little bit of jewelry but had never been able to cast it aside, how he walled off his heart and mind but thought about her day and night. He didn't want to forget her, but he could never be near her again. She didn't deserve to deal with that; what he'd seen, what he'd done, what he had become.

He'd done his best to disappear from her life after it was over. She would know better than to believe that he'd been killed in action so he'd have to settle for MIA. It was best she never know what had happened between 1939 and 1946, much better. If it hadn't been for the NSA records she might never have stumbled across him. Xerek had been a good friend, doing what he could to throw the authorities off, but this was one database he could only poke so much. And besides, why should he hide a husband from his wife?

The phone call had come first, her voice a bit scratchier than he remembered on his answering machine. Calm, polite, professional just in case she had the wrong Dr. Straussen. He told his secretary to ignore it but kept her phone number. He wasn't quite sure why since he'd no intention of calling her. The letters started coming after that. He sent them back unopened and marked "return to sender" but read every single one. X-ray vision had its advantages. After the tenth one was returned, she stopped sending them. He had hoped that might be the end of it, but when he checked his schedule the following week, her name was penciled in for a nine o'clock consultation.

He spent the morning anxious and distracted, body on pins and needles, waiting. His knuckles creaked in protest as he gripped the arms of his overlarge desk chair. It could have been an electric chair given the cold dread growing in Karl's stomach as he waited. Mentally slapping himself, he released the arm rests and folded his hands on the desktop, willing himself to at least appear calm. Only just in time; she entered a few moments later and Karl swallowed hard despite himself.

She was beautiful still, the years hardly seemed to have touched her. Hair still dark and sleek, only a few faint creases had pressed themselves into her delicate features. Her lips fell open slightly as she recognized him. Even with his faded hair and care-worn face, she was glad to see him, her eyes lighting up though she said nothing at first. He wanted to leap from his chair and throw his arms around her, to hug her close, kiss her lips and cry how badly he'd missed her, but the weight of his guilt held him rooted to the spot. She noticed then his lack of wedding band and her joy wavered.

"Ms. Mode," he nodded politely, motioning for her to take a seat and he watched that happy light fade further still. She gracefully hopped up onto one of the hard chairs and watched him passively, mentally spiriting around him, trying hard to gauge what was going on inside his head. She never outright snooped, she always asked first, and as the mental fronds of her consciousness knocked gently on the walls of his mind, Karl held firm keeping her out. Her confusion and hurt was palpable though it did not show in her face. Even as she retreated, he did not lower his shields. Little by little, he could feel hers going up as well.

"Dr. Straussen," she returned. "I…" For once in her life she seemed speechless, unsure and unable to think of what to say. The moment didn't last long. She wasn't going to play this game of "I don't know you" with him. With little other recourse, Karl braced himself.

"Karl…" she said at length, her roughened voice cracking and Karl nearly along with it. "Karl don't you know me?"

"I know you," he responded, impressed by the evenness of his own voice. It was evident she wasn't sure if he did.

"When is my birthday?"

"May third, nineteen-ten."

"Our anniversary?"

He repressed a wince at that. "June eleventh, nineteen thirty-nine." Her own rings were still intact, he noticed, the garnet glittering darkly on her finger. Karl swallowed hard on his suddenly doubled guilt.

"Then…" she trailed off, hope and desperation mingled in her eyes.

Unable to hold her gaze he dropped his eyes and busied himself shuffling through her medical file. "What was it you wanted to discuss?"

"_Uns_," she said, lapsing into German as she had always done when she wanted to talk about something important. "_Ich kam zu befinden Sie , zu vergewissern Sie wart meinetwegen , zu übersehen falls…_" To find him, to make sure he was all right, to see if... She didn't finish the sentence, she didn't have to; the words rang deafeningly, unspoken, in the empty air between them.

"I do not discuss personal matters at the office," he told her, deliberately speaking in English. How could she know that even the language he'd grown up with had begun to hurt?

"I see…" She did and he knew it. Nodding to herself, she readjusted her grip on her handbag and dug inside it. "I believe these are yours." She placed a short stack of envelopes on his desk, the same letters that he'd returned to her. "Thank you for your time, Doctor."

Karl cringed inwardly, stung by the same cold politeness he'd been showing her. Without another word she hopped down and left, gently closing the door behind her. Karl felt sick. For many minutes he sat where he was, not moving, hardly breathing, staring unblinking through the door at her retreating back. He didn't have to have X-ray vision to see the tears already falling from her inner eye. He'd broken her heart. He couldn't tell her it was because he loved her too much to hurt her worse.

Not caring if his next appointment was on time or not, Karl slid from his chair and huddled in the little space below his desk. The boxy cave was more than large enough to accommodate him and he'd employed the child-sized hiding space more than once. Wrapping his arms around his knees he hid his face, squinting his eyes shut tightly over the tears he couldn't allow to come. Instead he screamed and screamed inside his head at his self-inflicted wound. She was finally really lost… He would have sooner gouged his eyes out than see her hurt but he had no choice. Allowing her to stay, allowing her in, that would have been far worse. He'd rather have her angry than disappointed, and that was how she surely would feel if she were ever to see… No. It was over now. No sense worrying about it. But it hurt, it hurt so terribly. All he could do was sit there, his chest so sore with the ache that he could hardly breathe, and wait for the bleeding in his soul to slow. He was fairly certain it would never completely stop. It was a small price to pay. At least now she was safe. Safe from him and his demons.

It took only a few moments to compose himself. He had gotten far too used to working under pressure, to keeping the mask of professionalism firmly in place. The hospital staff had long since gotten accustomed to his quirks, his jumpiness and nerves. Nobody said a word if they even noticed at all. It wasn't until he finally made his way home to his small, single-room apartment that he finally let himself break down. With trembling hand he opened the letters and carefully pasted them into the scrap book. He already had them memorized, but he reread them anyway, savoring the careful loops and elegant curves of E's precise handwriting. For a long time he simply looked at the pages, not really seeing them or thinking about anything, only feeling the raw and empty hole he'd gouged in his heart. Better to bleed a little than inflict the same scars he bore on her.

With a sigh he took himself to bed though he didn't expect to sleep. He would have liked to cry but his eyes remained spitefully dry. Perhaps it was just as well, what had he to cry over? The decision had been his and he had made it. However, that didn't make it any easier. He was so tired, too tired to cry, too tired even to sleep. If he listened carefully he could hear E mourning inside herself, the soft sobs echoing past the thick walls around her heart. He dared not even ask her forgiveness. A coward, that's what he was, a weak little man hiding from punishment, from his wife, from the very memories that haunted him. For some reason, living was the more attractive option despite how lonely and guilt-ridden his existence. Sometimes he wondered if it really was better, if he ought to turn himself in? But he could never muster the courage. Maybe being sentenced to death would be the easier way out? Maybe living was his punishment? He'd probably never know. He was too scared to find out. It was just as well he'd turned her away. She wouldn't want to be married to a coward. Maybe if he told himself that enough times he might believe it. Maybe.


	2. All Work

His dad was a loud voice for the extreme political Right and could be classified as a Bible Thumper. One of those people you'd call "Sir" even if he wasn't former military. Ray grew up in an atmosphere where church came before all else, rock music was of the devil, and so were skirts shorter than mid-calf. Jeans and T-shirts were too casual for anything but yard work so Oxford shirts and khakis were as informal as it ever got. Due to his dad's influence, supers were not allowed to exist or at least exhibit their powers publicly. If not for the national news and his father's occasional rants, he probably never would have known supers existed at all. As it was, he grew up with the mindset that supers were freaks of nature that did more harm than good and if they really wanted to help, ought to renounce their sinful ways and powers and behave like the normal, decent folk. It therefore never occurred to anyone- Ray included- that he might be super.

A "nerd" in every possible sense of the word, Ray suffered at the hands of bullies and over-enthusiastic participants of gym class like no other. The seizures that began when he was a preteen didn't help. He took his medication faithfully, but it served as more of a placebo than anything since he was not, in fact, epileptic. Indeed many of the medications he was prescribed only seemed to increase the frequency and intensity of the attacks since he was a) not epileptic and was therefore taking psych drugs he did not need and b) his super's sensitive body chemistry was unable to process drugs far too heavy for his system to handle. His family tried everything including faith healers and two exorcists with no results. Ray went back to medication, slowly going through every pill on the register and attempting new ones as they became available. He was a regular in both the nurse's and guidance counselor's office due to his fits and the accompanying visions and nightmares. Had his family belonged to a more charismatic church, his abilities might have been dubbed a spiritual gift of Interpreting Spirits. Sadly, that was not the case. Instead his family began to fear that their only son and youngest child might be suffering from a mental illness. His paternal grandmother had suffered from a mild form which had escalated so badly in her later years that she'd had to be put into a mental institution. Ray, now entering high school, was absolutely terrified of such a prospect. He did his best to contain his fits and stopped relating what he saw, instead documenting his visions in dozens of journals.

His reputation as a "spazz" and a "schitzo" preceded him to high school where his social status did not improve. He had no friends and hundreds of enemies. Getting beat up had become a daily routine back in middle school and the tormenting continued. Music became his sole outlet and he poured himself into practicing. A unique and positive side-effect of all this musical immersion was that it proved to be a less painful way of getting the images clogging his brain out of his mind. The more he practiced, the better he felt, and so he practiced almost twenty-four-seven. Even with this newfound release, he still had trouble in school. Now diagnosed as Autistic, his grades and social situation had become so bad that the school recommended Ray either be transferred to a separate institution altogether, or be moved to one of the classes for learning-disabled students. Such a move would have emotionally crushed Ray and so his parents chose to let him stick out the remaining two years as a regular student. Ray graduated at the very bottom of his class but amazingly still walked away with a full scholarship in music.

The scholarship, however, was only available in a profoundly out of state university. His parents, torn between their son's health and his equally precarious chance at higher education, spent weeks praying about it. Not until after a church and Foster family within that church had been contacted and communicated with extensively were any plans made. Only after Ray had a surrogate church and family to take care of him did he make the trip and apply for a shared dorm.

Ray had hoped to start fresh in his new surroundings but it only took one seizure for his first roommate to request a transfer. Five others would also bail on him after having to deal with his fits and nightmares and the aftermath that followed. The student body became convinced he was insane and several complaints were made against him. Ray found himself roommateless, but mercifully still enrolled. Without the rigors of the usual class disruption and teasing, Ray found himself better able to concentrate in a lecture hall setting and while his grades were still low, they were passable. There might not have been any name-calling the classroom, but it didn't take long for Ray to discover what bullies evolved into when they reached college: Frat boys.

The various fraternities became Ray's constant fear and he did his best to keep well out of range. However, the members seemed to sniff him out and go out of their way to make his life miserable. It seemed fitting, somehow, that many of them were members of the sports teams, particularly football. He had never been good with football. Ray, himself, in order to fulfill the requisite PE requirement, had taken up golf. It didn't require a uniform or a shower afterwards, but equipment did have to be stashed in a storage closet that was only accessible from the men's locker room. He did his best to sneak his driver in the back room and tiptoe out again, but someone almost always caught him and then it was time to practice on him the hazing usually reserved for new pledges. It was during one of these unfortunate incidents that he met Alex.

Apprehended as usual after trying to return his clubs, Ray found himself surrounded by boys twice his size and three-times his weight, laughing at his expense. He took their name-calling in silence, knowing better than to fuel their malice with feeble retorts and that the less he fought, the sooner they would tire of their cruel game. He'd been beaten up before and had survived; all he had to do was wait for it to be over. Picking a locker latch from the inside was second-nature to him by now and he could hold his breath for over a minute should swirlies be the order of the day. However, the football team and other random sportsmen had other things in mind. The name-calling turned ugly, the bigger boys calling him a "girl" and worse, many of them terms he didn't even know or understand. The validity of Ray's masculinity arose and before he could dive between one of the giant's legs to escape, he'd been grabbed hand and foot and stripped of his clothing. The humiliation did not end there. Ray did his best to protect his modesty with his hands, but the jocks didn't give him the chance. Tying his wrists with his underpants they shoved him into the shower and turned on the cold water full blast. Shivering, scarlet-faced, his glasses beaded with icy water, Ray did his best to grit his teeth and wait for the laughing to stop. The only thing in the world to be grateful for was the fact that his wet glasses and the falling water would hide his tears. With his hands tied behind his back there was no good way to hide himself from the laughter of the muscle-heads. Not knowing what else to do, he turned his back. It didn't take long to discover that that was a mistake. Someone seized him by the scruff of the neck and shoved him to the floor, nearly chipping his teeth on the wet tile. He struggled to get to his knees, scraping pale flesh against the rough and moldy grout of the shower floor. He'd only just managed to get his knees under him when something was shoved into him from behind. The squeak of mingled pain and shock was involuntary but now that it had left his throat, could not be taken back. Spurred on by his outcry his tormenters jeered and the object was shoved in further, forcing another falsetto shriek. The laughter grew louder, colder, his own pathetic yipes half lost as he choked on the still-falling water of the showers. Red trickled past as his nose began to bleed- whether from being ground into the tile or because of his headache, he wasn't sure- and the twitching soon followed. He gladly surrendered, for once happy to hide in his nightmares if only to be away from this. The laughing grew louder though less distinct as his twitches turned to bucking, which only forced the object deeper into him.

"WHAT THE _HELL_ IS GOING ON HERE?!"

It couldn't be the coach, his voice was loud yet hoarse and shrill from years of combined shouting and smoking. This voice, deep and commanding, boomed inside the locker room. At those words, suddenly everything went silent.

"WHOSE IDEA WAS THIS?!"

No one answered.

"THE HELL IS _WRONG_ WITH YOU?!" the voice bellowed. "YOU THINK THIS IS _FUNNY__?!_"

A dangerous silence.

"Get out," the voice ordered, its calmness even more frightening than its earlier volume. "All of you. _OUT__!_"

They left. Once the trample of feet and mad scramble for personal objects had subsided, Ray, amid his twitching, distantly felt a huge shadow fall over him.

"Holy shit…" muttered a voice, not that of the shouter.

"Geeze, this is a new low. Pickin' on the autistic kid?"

"Don't just stand there," that was the initial voice that had shouted, now calmer and strangely gentle in its deepness, "shut the water off and find me an extra towel."

"You need a hand Cap?"

"Nah, clear out. Poor guy's suffered enough; he doesn't need the whole rugby team starin' at him. I'll handle this. And, ah, keep this under your hat, will ya? I'll have '_Words'_ with the football captain later."

"Sure thing."

Finally the cold water trickled to a halt and the other two speakers left, their sneakers squeaking on the wet floor. The shadow turned back to him. Convinced he was going to die, Ray couldn't help cringing as a hand, huge and heavy, came to rest on his hip.

"Hold still, if you can. I'm gonna try to get this outta you. It's gonna hurt, but you'll feel better once it's gone."

It was the first voice, the one that had shouted and then instructed the rugby players. Ray, unable to give a coherent answer, said nothing, only did his best to confine his tremors to shivers. Bracing a hand on his hip, the rugby captain pulled on the object. Ray gave a strangled grunt.

"I know, just relax. I can't get it out if you clamp down on it."

Ray could only sniff in response and bit his lip as slowly, painfully, the thing was drawn out of him. A distant clatter as something fell to the floor and the rugby captain withdrew his hand. Out of the corner of one eye he noticed one of the plungers from the utility closet roll in a half-circle towards him, the handle smeared in red. Fully expecting to be hauled to his feet by the scruff of his neck, it came as something of a surprise when the knot around his wrists was loosened, freeing his hands, and soft, fluffy cotton descended around him. Now finally able to move somewhat, Ray struggled to his elbows and spat blood onto the floor.

"Easy, man," the rugby captain told him, resting a massive hand on his shoulder. "Just take a minute. You'll be okay."

Maybe it was the seizure, maybe it was the trauma, maybe it was the kindness of the rugby captain; either way, Ray found himself sobbing hot tears.

"S'okay, man," the captain said. "You're all right. Think you can stand? I'll take you down to the nurse if you want."

It proved to Ray that Good Samaritans did exist.


	3. Stood Up

It was still late enough in the season and early enough in the day that the sun was out and shining determinedly even though it was almost 7PM. It was therefore something of a shock when he noticed the distinct absence of cheerleader waiting for him outside the dorm. Usually his dates stood slightly to the front of a small cluster of fellow cheerleaders or sorority girls who could bear witness to the fact that their friend had been whisked away for a romantic evening by the highly-sought after rugby captain. However, the only ones standing outside the building were the usual group of only mildly drunk non-Frats, a lone English major buried in a copy of Dante, and a single smoker with a huge, pouch-like shoulder bag standing off by herself. She looked as if she were waiting for someone.

"You Alex?" she asked, suddenly turning her head and eyeing him. Evidently she'd been waiting for him.

"Yeah, is Jessica ready yet?"

"Nope."

"Oh, er, should I go up and get her?"

The girl was eyeing him in appraisal, as if doing her best to talk herself into something.

"Nah. She went out. With the football captain."

Alex blinked blankly. "Oh."

She finished her cigarette and let it fall to the sidewalk, smothering it with the toe of one scuffed-up clog. Alex, still busy trying to process this new information and a subsequent alternate plan, just stood there. The girl filled the silence for him.

"Don't feel too bad about it. She's high-maintenance anyway. Barely has a brain in her head and for as much as she carries on about clothes can't even do her own wash. If it were me, I woulda ditched her after the first date."

Alex got the feeling the girl would have ditched Jessica a lot sooner. In all honesty, Alex had to agree. He really had very little knowledge in what to look for in a girlfriend. However, he had an appearance to keep up and so generally followed the rule of "blonde, pretty, and popular" with so far rather disappointing consequences. True, there were girls practically lined up around the block to go out with him, but he had no real interest in any of them; certainly not romantic, anyway.

The dark-haired girl fishing for another cigarette certainly appeared to be the antithesis of Jessica and most of the other girls he'd dated. She was rather on the short side, probably only an inch or two over five foot, fair skin, dark eyes with darker circles around them (though that could have been her make-up), and long ,straggly brown hair. Jessica had fussed endlessly about her appearance, but this girl- clad in a shapeless sweater that hung to her hips and low-slung jeans with holes in the knees held up by a thick belt with flowers and a picket fence etched into it- seemed to care less. Both sweater and jeans were worn and faded, the moss-colored knit stretched so badly in places that the striped pattern of her T-shirt beneath showed through. It was impossible to gauge if she were thin or fat, if she had an impressive bust line or was flat-chested, the sweater hid pretty much everything.

"I'm Misty," she offered, sticking out a spindly little hand for him to shake and Alex briefly marveled at her bravery, "Jessie's roommate."

That explained a lot.

"Said I could go in her place if you didn't have somebody else lined up."

Alex took another moment to blink. "Excuse me?"

"I dunno what the hell you said to her, but she was pissed. All insulted. What'd you do? Try to cop a feel?" Her lopsided grin proved she was teasing. Alex returned it with a somewhat sheepish chuckle, reflecting that it was a _lack_ of groping that had lost him his date.

"Eh don't worry about it. She'll get over herself. Hell, she's probably forgotten about it already. Girl's got the attention-span of a goldfish. Anyhow, figured I'd at least let you know the date's off. Didn't want you standin' around like you were waitin' for a cab. You prob'ly got somebody waitin' in the wings."

He did, but the prospect of calling Gwennie Reynolds was not overly appealing. This girl- with her beaten clothes, messy hair and foul mouth- was beginning to grow on him. The cigarette smoke, however, was getting to him and he took a step back. She quirked an eyebrow at the movement and stubbed the freshly lit stick of paper on the brick balustrade of the dorm steps.

"Sorry. I keep forgettin' not everybody likes it."

"It's okay," Alex told her.

"Anyhow have a nice evening. I won't bother to wait up." She gave him another crooked smile and a wink to go with it. He noticed a few of her teeth were broken. Hero's instinct tickling in the back of his mind, he eyed her jaw a little closer. It was subtle, but it was there, the waning yellow of an almost-healed bruise. She'd been hit with something, probably earlier that week.

"What'd you do to your jaw?" he asked. The girl immediately broke eye contact and fiddled with her extinguished cigarette, relighting it and taking a step backwards of her own.

"Aw nothin'. Just caught a field hockey stick in the face."

"Owch," Alex offered in a verbal wince. It was a lie, but he let it slide. "Play sports?"

She snorted and made a face. "Gawd no, I hate sports. Sports HURT whether you're watchin' or playin'. Painful to watch, painful to play."

He should have been insulted but instead he chuckled. Sports probably DID hurt to most people. He knew they hurt to Ray.

"Not for everybody, I guess," he nodded.

"Got that right. Can't understand why the stupid one-credit in 'Pain and Agony' is required."

Alex snickered. "I thought that was what Calculus was for?"

She laughed, showing her broken-toothed smile again. "Ya know, you're not as dumb as I thought you'd be." It was supposed to be a compliment and somehow even came off as one.

"Not all jocks are muscle-headed idiots." It was easy talking to this girl- Misty, she'd said her name was- for some reason. It was like he'd known her for years. There was something strangely familiar about her though he couldn't pin down exactly what it was. She wasn't anything like his sisters or any of the other girls he'd known over the years. Then it hit him: she was super too. Heaven alone knew what kind, but there it was; whatever they were, she had powers also. She, at least, could probably be trusted with one secret. In spite of himself, Alex felt a plan begin simmering in the back of his mind. Maybe she could handle two.

"Thanks," he smiled, suddenly feeling a little self-conscious of his own perfectly straight, white teeth. "Sooo you ready?"

"Ready?" It was her turn to blink blankly.

"To go out?"

She looked over her shoulder, checking to see if someone was standing behind her.

"I mean you."

"Uh…" The blank look on her face all too clearly declared hadn't been asked out in a long time.

"C'mon, no sense wasting a movie ticket."

"Uh…okay."


	4. Strays

It was, Alex reflected, probably the best date he'd been on in a while. They'd watched "Monty Python and the Holy Grail" instead of some horribly sappy chick flick, Misty had actually helped eat the popcorn, and had not even hinted that she wanted to be any closer to him than arm's length. She had, in fact, shrugged nervously away when he'd attempted to drape an arm around her shoulders. He relayed all this to Charles who listened patiently, commenting only with a roll of his eyes.

"You know this is the first time I've ever actually heard you gush about a date, Alex."

"Well, she's different!"

"Yeah, from what you've told me she's short, ugly, smokes, and swears."

"Well…yeah… But that's not what I meant!"

"My mistake, she's a brunette with no boobs too."

"CHARLES."

"WHAT?"

Ray cast a long-suffering glance at them and returned his attention to the dishes.

"…she's one too."

"One what?"

"Super."

Ray scrubbed even more industriously.

"You sure?"

"Yeah."

"What's her special?"

"I dunno yet. But…heck," Alex tripped over his own words briefly, only just remembering to censor himself, "she's a nice girl and I think she could use the friends."

"We are NOT taking in any more strays, Alex. We already have ONE lost cause, we do not need another one."

The dishwater splashed indignantly.

"I think she knows she's different she just doesn't know WHY. She's probably got something subtle."

"She can't smoke in the house."

"She won't, she's good about that. And I'm not asking if she can move in, I'm asking you to freaking TALK TO HER. You are SUCH an…" he paused and glanced briefly at Ray, "…annoying person sometimes!"

Charles smirked. "Fine, but the same rules apply to her as to Billy Graham over there."

Ray gave another rather insulted splash while Alex rolled his own eyes.

"I really DON'T think you'll have anything to worry about."

"We'll see."


	5. Lost and Found

"I still think this is a bad idea."

Charles was losing patience. "Ray, will you freaking RELAX? This is COLLEGE. No one is going to CARE. She is coming over to STUDY not to STAY OVER so will you CALM DOWN?!"

"You don't have to yell…" Ray mumbled, wincing slightly at the shouting. Charles sighed. Ray's straight-laced ways were maddening but it was hard to stay angry at the guy. Still, Charles rather wished the smaller boy would grow some backbone.

"Well it's not like we're going to play Spin The Bottle, geeze. Lighten up."

Ray gave his signature look that somehow managed to appear both whipped yet reproachful, a visual indication of his disapproval as well as his general inability to do anything about the situation. Charles briefly reflected that that had to be frustrating but then further considered that Ray wouldn't have to be so damn put-out if he'd only take the broomstick out of his ass. Oh right. Alex had said no stick-in-ass jokes. That would just be mean. Oop, doorbell.

"_I'll_ get it," Alex stated, exaggeratedly elbowing in front of Charles to answer the door. Misty, typically dusty, dumpy, and uncombed, stood on the other side just finishing smothering a cigarette.

"Hey," she grinned.

"Hey, c'mon in," Alex offered, returning the sideways smile. She did, immediately falling under the critical eye of Charles. Ray, as ever, skulked in the background, wary of the presence of not only a new person, but that of a female.

"This's Charles and Ray," Alex offered. Misty nodded at them in turn.

"S'up?"

Charles nodded curtly and gave an equally short "Hi." Ray lifted a hand shyly, his eyes wandering to the guitar slung on her back.

"Just got out of class," she explained in answer to Ray's unspoken question. "Didn't get a chance to drop it off."

"Don't mind Brother Raymond, he's just a music nut," Charles snerked. Ray offered a customary half-hearted scowl.

"S'cool," Misty nodded. "I've seen him in the music hall already. He's wicked good. Makes the rest of us look bad."

Ray, surprisingly, blushed and contemplated the floor.

"Alex said you needed help." Charles didn't like to beat around the bush.

"Yeah, I am TOTALLY lost," Misty said, digging around in her bottomless shoulder bag and finally coming up with a thick Calculus text book. "Math hates me."

"That's not what I meant."

Misty's expression had become rather blank and a little frightened.

"Er…" she stuttered, unsure. Ray huffed and turned his back.

"Tell me there isn't something familiar about me." Charles dared. After several silent minutes, she tilted her head to one side and looked at him as if seeing him for the first time. Perhaps she was.

"You can do it to…can't you."

Ray shook his head went to his room, closing the door behind him.

"What's with him?" she asked.

Charles shrugged. "He's not convinced."

"What? He one too?"

Alex blinked. "You knew?"

"About you, yeah. I mean, we've been hangin' out and stuff and no offense but it's a little obvious on you muscle-boy."

Charles smirked and Alex couldn't help the heat suddenly creeping into his cheeks.

"Wow. Four in one area."


	6. Secrets

Misty didn't look as if she'd enjoyed the holiday weekend much. Judging from the even darker circles around her eyes she hadn't gotten much sleep, not even on the bus ride from California back to Arizona. She'd gotten a haircut too, though it looked as if she'd done it herself, in the dark, with an extremely dull pair of hedge clippers. Even in it's sawed-off state it hung half loose and half pinned-up with her customary clip in a vain attempt to keep it out of her face. She didn't seem in the mood for a publicity stunt so Alex elected to take her somewhere away from campus gossip-mongers where she could get some real rest if she wanted. It didn't matter what they did, so long as they were seen leaving together.

Desert evenings were cool, the intensely hot day sliding away into frigid night in the space of only a few short hours. Misty already had her coat on, a mangy old thing made of fleece and blue denim with few remaining buttons. Alex watched her quietly as she smoked and stared across the fake-lake at nothing.

"Good weekend?"

The response was flat and unenthusiastic. "Stellar."

"See your folks?"

"I live with my aunt and uncle."

"Right. Um…they doing okay?"

"Swell."

Usually Misty didn't hesitate to chatter away around him, but Alex was beginning to get the distinct feeling that she didn't want to talk.

"…you okay?" It was fairly obvious she wasn't, but he had to ask anyway. It was only polite. She shrugged.

"Fine."

"Mis, I…"

She cut him off. "I don't want to talk right now, you do it."

Alex took a minute and thought, trying to come up with something to ramble about.

"Not a lot to relate, really. You didn't miss much," he began, deciding to start by giving her an update. "Charles is still a sarcastic jerk, Ray still isn't convinced he's super. We ARE making progress with him, such as it is, I just hope it happens in time. At least he isn't taking any medication anymore."

Misty nodded silently.

"Umm… Not a lot happened. Stuff's actually been fairly quiet. I was kinda bored so the guys and I played videogames most nights."

She quirked a small half smile. "Miss me, did you?"

"Always," he smiled.

"You're a good guy, Alex." Her smile was strangely rueful and she turned back to looking at the lake.

"What?"

"Nothin'"

"No seriously, what?"

"I'm just surprised you stuck with me this long."

"Huh?"

"You know the popular squad is talking about us. I mean, what IS the rugby captain doing with the little hippie bitch?"

"Hippie bitch?? Who's been--"

"It's true. I'm kinda wrecking your image or whatever."

"Who the hell cares? You're my friend. I'm not gonna randomly stop hanging out with you just because of what a couple of social snobs think."

She nodded thoughtfully. "Thanks. That means a lot…"

He got the impression that she wasn't sure how much she meant or in what way.

"Mis…"

"Just thinkin'," she sighed, exhaling a long stream of white smoke. "You takin' me out because you LIKE me, or because it's easier than puttin' up with the bimbos of triple-sigma?"

An uncomfortable sensation began in the pit of his stomach.

"I like you…"

She shook her head. "I'm just your holler-back girl."

"No you're not!"

"Then what am I!?" she was shouting now, her eyes welling up. "A guy with boobs? Do gentlemen still exist or are you just gay?"

Caught off-guard, Alex couldn't help the crimson rising in his cheeks. Misty blinked.

"Oh. I'm sorry."

Turning away, she went back to her cigarette.

"Misty I…"

"No, it's okay. I understand," she smiled. He wasn't sure she really did. As she turned to pull on her cigarette he distinctly heard her mutter "fucking figures…" under her breath.

"I was gonna tell you…" he mumbled lamely into his lap.

"S'all right, really. You're still my friend. I'll be happy to cover for you as long as you wanna keep this up."

He looked up. "Really?"

"Really."

"But…what about you?"

"What ABOUT me?"

"Well…aren't you a little disappointed?"

She shrugged. "Maybe a little. I think somewhere in the back of my mind I always knew you were too good to be true. I just can't figure guys. You didn't let me down, though. I was right about one thing."

"What was that?"

Turning, she looked up at him and gave a fragile smile. "You're safe."

He couldn't argue with that. "You know you CAN quit any time you want."

"Nah," she waved him off, "I like hangin' out with you."

"It'll make it harder for you to meet somebody."

She shook her head. "Nobody'd want me."

"Sure they would," he smiled, reaching and putting an arm around her shoulder. She winced as he laid a massive hand on her arm.

"Sorry. Did I hurt you?"

"No."

"Let me see."

"No, Alex I'm FINE."

"Just let me look."

"Alex will you let it GO?!"

"I want to make sure I didn't BREAK you, okay?!"

"You didn't break me now-- OW!"

Evidently, someone else had. Pushing up her coat sleeve revealed an ugly bruise circling her forearm and another starting just above her elbow.

"What is this?"

She wouldn't meet his eyes. "It's nothing."

"Who did this?"

"No one. I…fell."

"Right. Who pushed you?"

"No one! It was just an accident, okay?"

Alex was losing patience. "How stupid do you think I am? That kind of mark is left when somebody grabs you," he demonstrated, seizing her upper arm and making her wince, "like this and you try to pull away like you just did. Don't lie to me. _Who. Did. This?_"

Head still down, she answered him in a shaky voice. "Why? You gonna beat 'em up?"

"The thought had crossed my mind."

"Well you can't."

"Why not?"

"Well for one, they're three hours away."

Abruptly, he let her arm fall. Reclaiming her limb, Misty bent it against her chest and rubbed the injured spot with her other hand.

"…your family did this?"

"I messed up. He just yelled at me, that's all."

"My ass. You're lucky he didn't break your arm. Did he do this too?" He reached and flipped one hacked-short end of her hair. Features scrunched, she flinched and turned away, cueing Alex that he'd crossed a line.

"…I'm sorry…"

"Why d'you gotta get all possessive of me now?" she sniffed, voice choked with unshed tears.

"You're my friend, I don't like seeing my friends get hurt."

"Whatever." The word was bitter, muttered through barely held emotion. A deep sigh. "I don't want to talk about this."

Alex nodded. "Okay."


	7. Tonguelashing

"Last time, right?"

He didn't try to hide the acid sarcasm in his tone, attempt to lessen the scowl creasing his features. Misty, hunched over her mug of very black coffee, glanced up only briefly.

"I didn't do it on purpose…" she mumbled softly. Charles snorted.

"The point is you did it. You screwed up. Again. How many times do you think you can get away with this?"

Her expression narrowed only slightly but did nothing to mask the sudden mental sting she'd felt, indicating his words had hurt. Good. If Alex wasn't willing to tell her how it was, then he would.

"I'm not trying to get away with anything," she faltered.

"The hell you aren't," Charles shot back. "You just think you've found somebody safe, somebody to bail you out and defend you from all the stupid shit you get yourself into."

"It isn't like that!" she protested, her voice growing smaller has his grew louder.

"Isn't it? Do you know how much he talks about you? How much this hurts him? How he hates having to scrape you off the floor time again and how frustrated it makes him because he can't do SHIT about it?!" He was shouting now but he didn't care.

"No!" the word was squeaked. "No, I mean…I…I…"

She had nothing. He knew it and she knew it. There wasn't anything to say. She had screwed up. It was her fault. She was guilty and there was nothing she could say in her own defense. Maybe it was bullying just a little, but she needed to hear this, needed to know that the damage wasn't limited to just herself.

"I don't care if you want to fuck yourself over but this is hurting my friend." He was in her face now. She'd risen from the chair, standing quavering and wide-eyed, retreating as he advanced toward her. "This isn't a game. This is real. This is your life and his life and I WILL NOT let you fuck with him. Alex is a nice guy, too nice for his own good, and if you think you can take advantage of that you've got another thing coming. I may be with the Good Guys, but I am not as forgiving as he is. I don't trust you. Rather, I trust you to screw up again. Maybe you can't help it, maybe you can; I don't really care. What I care about is my best friend sobbing to me because YOU almost killed yourself from overdosing on god knows what. I don't like to see my friends hurt and upset. If you make him cry again so help me…"

He would never actually raise a hand to her, not unless she attacked first. However, retaliation seemed to be the last thing she had in mind. He'd lifted one hand, finger pointing menacingly at her flat chest, but even that small gesture seemed too much. Backed into a corner, Misty crumbled before the accusing finger, collapsing into a quivering little ball.

"What the hell's the matter with you?" he asked blankly, watching as she dissovled into tears.

"I'm sorry," she bawled from behind her knees and crossed arms, doing her best to shrink into the carpet. "I'm sorry!"

This wasn't the reaction he'd expected. Anger turned to confusion flavored with just a hint of annoyance, Charles could only stand and stare. Misty always kept herself heavily guarded around him and while no thought or memory reached him, the overwhelming flood of fear was almost enough to knock him off his feet. Had he really frightened her that badly? She acted as if he were going to swallow her whole.

"Geeze, take it easy," he told her, unsure what else to do. "I'm not gonna hurt you."

"She doesn't know that."

Charles turned to find Alex standing in the doorway. Oh shit. Panic over how much Alex might have heard, a desperate need to justify his shouting, and confusion over Misty's behavior raced through his mind too quickly for him to form a question. Though from the look on Alex's face, perhaps asking wouldn't be such a good idea.

"I…didn't mean…" he stammered. It was half true. He'd intended to cuss her out, read her her rights, make damn sure she understood how he felt about things, but he hadn't meant to scare her. Not this badly, anyway.

"I know." He probably did, at least in part, but that didn't stop Charles from suddenly feeling like a heel. Remaining silent, Alex held out his thoughts, offering a set of mental snapshots for Charles to look through. Accepting the offered information, Charles glanced through the memories and while suddenly the situation made a lot more sense, he felt even worse. Scars, bruises, cuts, broken bones, lost teeth… He'd wondered what had been up with her bad haircut. Well, now he knew. It wasn't an excuse but it was a reason. Now he knew why she was cowering on the carpet like a whipped puppy. She had no reason to expect that he, the big, bad roommate, wouldn't come after her with a large and heavy object too.

"I'll…go…" he faltered, heading for the door.

"Do you want her to stay afraid of you?"

Charles considered a witty remark but then thought the better of it. "Well, no."

"Then you're going to have to get her to stop crying. If I do it that'll just make you the badguy in her eyes. Even if you don't like her, she should know you won't hurt her."

While Charles saw the sense in that, he had trouble believing he'd be able to get Misty to calm down. Alex must have heard for he replied;

"Just talk to her."

"Okay, fine." Feeling more than a little awkward, Charles turned his attention back to a still-sobbing Misty. She hadn't seemed to have noticed that Alex was even there. It was probably just as well.

"Hey um…" dammit, he sucked at emotional stuff. "Um…look, what you do pisses me off, but I'm not gonna come after you for it."

He could feel Alex's eyes rolling behind him. Apparently he'd have to shoot for "comforting" as well as "non-threatening". This wasn't going to be easy. Crouching down to her level, he tried again.

"Hey," it surprised him how gentle his own voice could sound. "C'mon, stop. It's okay. I'm not gonna hit you or anything. I'm sorry I scared you."

Cautiously she peeked over the edge of one arm.

"I promise I won't eat you," he grinned. She smiled a tiny bit at that.

"I don't…hate you," he admited, "but…I don't trust you. I mean how can I?"

She looked at the floor.

"I just…I don't want to see you drag Alex down with you, okay?"

She nodded.


	8. Unrequited

"Okay… But she stays on the couch."

As if there was anywhere else to go with her. Funny how the last word often came down to Ray, though he rarely got one in edgewise every other time. Alex liked to bring home strays, hell Ray had been one himself. Now his latest sorry scrap of humanity was unpacking her sparse belongings in the downstairs game room. By the time Alex had finished moving game consoles, movies, and other random junk out of the way she was rolled up in the afghan and asleep on the beaten sofa. Silently, he shut off the lights and went back upstairs to let her sleep.

She was only staying the weekend; both she and Charles were very vocal about that. Charles, for all his unwillingness to openly admit it, had warmed up to Ray, but drew the line at not-girlfriends with substance abuse problems. Misty solemnly promised she wouldn't bring any of that into the house. Aside from indulging in a couple cigarettes in the open air of the back porch, she was as good as her word. She brought nothing illegal into the house, at least not outside her person.

Everyone usually went out Saturday night for various reasons, with the noted exception of Ray who had simply gone to bed due to his headaches. Charles was busy in the lab, and Alex, because of a mysterious absence of Misty, had elected to take a night off. Since practice ate up a lot of his time and the house was quiet, in a fit of nerdiness Alex decided to catch up on some homework. Charles Dickens ought never to have been paid by the page. It had ruined him, Alex was convinced. Why did lit teachers have to pick such LONG books, anyway? He glanced at the clock. Wow. It was later than he thought, working close to 1AM. He hadn't heard Charles come in and Ray was still snoozing quietly across the hall. He must have gotten into something and become so involved he'd lost track of time. That happened now and again. The latch jiggled and the front door opened and closed. That must be Charles now. No, wait, the step was too light and far too uneven. Clumsy clumping down the stairs to the game room. It had to be Misty. A distant WHUMP as she flopped onto the sofa. Alex thought about getting up and asking her where she'd been all night, but decided it might be better just to wait for daylight. He could ask her about it then. Setting aside his painfully complete and unabridged copy of "David Copperfield", Alex went about getting ready for bed. He was in the act of pulling on his pajamas when he heard a soft knock on the door.

"Alex?"

It was Misty.

"Just a second," he replied, hurrying to get his pajama pants on. He managed only just in time, the door had been closed though not latched and it swung open, brushing quietly against the carpet.

"Hey Mis, where were--" he broke off, T-shirt hanging forgotten in his hands. "Er…" he gawked. Misty stood leaning against the doorframe, her silhouette highlighted by the singular dim light of his desk lamp. Most of her, including her face, was cast in shadow, transforming her body into a landscape of black shadowed valleys and white highlighted hills. Even in the half-light it was impossible to conceal the fact that she was completely naked. Alex swallowed hard. She wandered closer, into his room and the shadow of light. For some reason, he hadn't expected her to look like this.

Alex wasn't given to wondering about the female form, though he had a decent idea of what it looked like from he excessively detailed descriptions and dirty magazines the guys in the locker room liked to pass around. Misty was a far cry from the bunny-eared women on the magazine covers. The sweater had hidden more than just her shape- or lack thereof. She was skinny, almost painfully so, her collarbones, lower ribs and hips sticking out and creating angles where there should have been soft curves. Her arms and legs were not just slender but spindly, so much so that had he known they were so thin, he would never have laid a hand on her for fear of snapping her limbs in half. She did, evidently, have a bustline though it had been hidden by her sweater, but her waist was so narrow he could have practically spanned it with only one hand. Old scars and half-healed bruises dotted her body like paint splashed at random on a wall and he couldn't help wondering where and how she'd gotten them. She ambled closer, her steps uneven and clumsy and he reached to catch her before she could fall.

"Sorry I stood you up," she mumbled. Alex almost choked on the heavy reek of smoke and alcohol thick in her straggly hair. She'd taken her clip out and the sawed-off ends hung down, obscuring her face. She had to be at the very least profoundly drunk.

"Where were you?" he asked, one hand around her waist, the other behind her back, just trying to keep her on her feet. Her spine stood out in low, discomforting ridges against his fingers.

"The Greek boys had a party," she slurred. "Woulda been rude to refuse the invite. Knew you didn't go for that kinda thing…" The sentence dissolved into giggles. Misty did not giggle. Ever. Oh yes, definitely, ridiculously drunk.

"What kind of thing?" he asked raising an eyebrow.

"I'm not telling you."

"Why not?"

"You'll yell at me."

That meant she was probably high too. God knew what else she'd done the past few hours.

"Are you okay? Nobody hurt you, right?"

"What? Naw…" she waved his question away with a disjointed sweep of one arm. "Nobody hurt me… I just want to apologize for leavin' you high and dry…" She paused to swallow and then smiled up at him with her broken teeth. He distantly hoped she wasn't going to vomit. "Sooo… I came to make it up to you."

He blinked. "Make it up to me?"

Time took a considerate moment to freeze so he could put the pieces together: he was standing alone in his bedroom, half-dressed with his completely undressed and drop-dead-drunk stand-in girlfriend who was currently snuggling her face in his chest and reaching for his… Alex jumped and flinched out of the way before Misty's hands could reach their intended destination.

"MISTY!" he hissed, mindful of the sleeping Ray across the hall who would most likely be scarred for life should he wake up and witness any of this. "Stop it. You're drunk."

"I am not drunk," she corrected, "I am intoxicated. There is a difference." She nodded. Alex supposed she would know, but now was not the time to quibble over degrees of drunkenness.

"I think you should go back to bed," he told her, carefully holding her at arm's length.

"I'll go if you come with me," she murmured, laying hold of his arm and snuggling it in such a way that his hand dangled at a very uncomfortable location.

"Misty," he disentangled himself with some difficulty, "you don't know what you're doing. Calm down. Go sleep it off. Here." He pulled the T-shirt down over her head. Roughly four sizes too large for her, it hung off one shoulder and well past her knees. She looked down at it in disappointment.

"Don't you want me?"

The wounded look in her eyes made him flinch, but not over guilt at turning her away.

"You're my friend, Mis. I don't want to take advantage of you when you're plastered."

"You don't want to take advantage of me at all," she pouted. He couldn't help feeling oddly chagrined at this.

"Well, no. But I shouldn't. Nobody should want to take advantage of you. You're a nice girl and you shouldn't have to cater to what other people want."

"I'd do _anything_ you wanted! _Anything!_" The look on her face made his stomach crawl unpleasantly. He had no doubt she had and would do damn near anything to make someone like her.

"Would it help if I cut my hair?" she pleaded. "What if I duct taped my boobs? I'll take it up the ass! Or I could wear one of those--" He placed his fingers against her lips before she could get any farther. He couldn't bear to hear any more.

"Misty…honey…"

Her features contorted and she smacked his hand away with surprising strength.

"DON'T!" she snapped. "Don't say it if you don't mean it!"

Alex could only stare, utterly bewildered. "I…"

"I KNOW you don't love me! Don't act like you do! Don't call me things I'm not, don't tell me things you don't mean!" Her thin shoulders shook, the long folds of the T-shirt wavering slightly with the motion. It took a minute to realize she was crying.

"Misty…" Reaching, he gathered her in his arms and she submitted without a word, laying her head on his thick shoulder. Sitting down on the edge of his bed, he held her while she cried.

"I'm sorry…" she mumbled at length.

"Why?"

"Because I'm not a boy."

"You make a cute girl."

She snorted. "Don't lie to me."

He wasn't lying, but she would never believe that he preferred her haphazard hair and honest, broken-toothed smile to the painstakingly plastic-perfect appearance of the cheerleaders he'd dated before her.

"I wish I were a boy …" she sighed. "Boys are big and strong. They don't have to worry about getting the snot beat out of them. Well…except for Ray…but he's special that way." Alex couldn't help smiling a little at that. Misty went on. "Guys don't have to worry about all the crazy shit that girls do…like underwires and pantyhose and cramps and minipads… Guys can't get pregnant. They can be fat if they want to. If they're ugly, nobody cares. Nobody picks on a guy for drinkin' or smokin'… And if he sleeps around…he's some kinda hero… Not a girl. If a girl does any of that stuff…she's a whore. A tramp. Trash. And nobody wants her…"

Misty huddled closer, her little hands pressed in fists against his chest.

_Nobody wants me…_

He had no idea what to say to that. The veiled confession in her drunken ramble had left him feeling as if he'd been punched in the stomach. He would have liked to get up right then and break the faces of whoever had done…whatever…to her. Obviously someone was hitting her. Her Uncle? Some other guy? Or guys? Clearly she drank. The smoke in her hair was not purely that of tobacco, what else was she poisoning herself with? A hundred horrible possibilities chased through his mind. He had only a vague idea of what she was doing to herself or what someone else might be doing to her. Even if given more specific information, he had the unpleasant feeling that he would have his work cut out for him as far as face-breaking went. Besides, would it really do her any good? She wasn't trapped inside a burning building or pinned beneath a wrecked car. He couldn't just heave the obstacle to one side with his bare hands and pull her to safety. There were some instances, apparently, where brute strength was useless. Misty needed help and he was powerless to do anything for her. With nothing else to do, he held her close, silently helping her cry until she fell asleep.


	9. Used

She didn't like going home, but it was that or…well…she really didn't want to think about that. She was in a bad enough mood already. Well, maybe "bad mood" was too strong a term, but "depressed" was so cliché. "Glum" covered it nicely. Lots of kids went home on the weekends but usually those kids lived closer than three hours away, and three hours geographically usually translated to about five by Greyhound. Misty sometimes felt she could have walked the distance faster. Not that she wanted to get there any sooner than she had to.

She didn't mind the smelly old dude that sat next to her. Her cigarette smoke covered the stench of both his unwashed person and the equally unpleasant odor of his stogie, which was just gross. She didn't mind his snoring either, her headphones and pirated mix drowned it out almost as well. She was sorry to leave him once the bus pulled in at the stop.

Her uncle was there waiting for her. He didn't say anything, just held the truck door open for her while she climbed inside.

"How's school?"

"Good."

"You behavin' yourself?"

"Yessir."

"Grades good?"

"Yessir."

"Any boys?"

"Nosir." Under NO circumstances was he finding out about Alex. Not that he really counted. It wasn't like they were actually DOING anything. She was just a convenience to him. Nothing more. Besides, he didn't deserve to get dragged into the bad Jerry Springer episode that was her life.

"Good. Drinkin'?"

"Nosir." It was a lie, but if he really thought she was going to tell him anything other than exactly what he wanted to hear, he was out of his mind.

"Good."

The rest of the ride home was spent in silence. The rest of her visit was spent more or less in silence too. The social worker stopped by Saturday morning bright and early at 8AM to interview Misty and her aunt and uncle. Her uncle did all the talking, her aunt smiled and nodded, Misty sat quietly, a movie star smile plastered to her face, and answered nicely when the social worker finally got around to her. When he asked about her hacked-off hair and worn-out clothing, her uncle shook his head and murmured to the social worker that his niece was a bit of punk, you know, one of those hippie freaks, dressed like that just to get their ire up. She was a handful, but he and his wife were doing what they could for her. Darnit she just didn't listen and if she wanted to dress out of the rag bag, he couldn't stop her. The social worker nodded understandingly. Yes, teenagers could be very trying, Misty ought to be grateful for all her extended family was doing for her. Misty, once the social worker had gone, reflected that it was her uncle who ought to be grateful for all she was doing for her extended family.

Her parents dead from a car crash, she'd lived with her mother's sister and her family since she was eleven. Aunt Amelia was nice enough, if a little wispy, and Uncle Mike usually left her alone. He was one of those men who couldn't be bothered most of the time, not with his own kids and certainly not with a cast-off like Misty. He liked his beef, his baseball, and his beer. God help you if you get between him and any one of them. He also liked it quiet. Misty had to take her father's guitar to school in order to keep it from being sold to the local pawn shop. She suffered for it and had to make up the two-hundred dollars herself. It was a very long summer.

Because Uncle Mike hadn't wanted a fourth kid and really didn't have the means to provide for one, Misty'd come with government funding. 300.00 a month in food, clothes, and medicine, none of which she ever saw. Uncle Mike worked blue-collar, some of his friend's collars not as clean as his, and they taught him a couple of tricks. Early on Misty's paperwork had gotten confused with another girl's (who knew there were two Misty O'Connor's in town?) and from then on the state had her listed as being three years younger than she actually was. Uncle Mike had never mentioned it and consequently the error had never been fixed. Even though she was nineteen, almost twenty, and attending college out of state (on her own money), her Uncle ostensibly had her come "home" once a month just to prove to the state that she was still living in the house full-time. It was extra money to pad the family budget that he wasn't ready to give up.

She supposed she ought to be grateful for the freedom her aunt and uncle allowed her. As long as she did her chores and was quiet and didn't cause any trouble, her guardians usually left her alone. Most kids would kill for such an absence of parental involvement. However, for such a lack of regulations, she seemed to wind up breaking a lot of rules. In the late 50s and early 60s there was no such thing as an alcoholic, nor was there such a thing as child abuse, and heading into her teen years, Misty no longer qualified as a "child". She was a teenager and teenagers had to be dealt with firmly. Misty wondered if other kids were handled this way. Uncle Mike was a strong believer in corporal punishment and strict discipline, especially if he'd been drinking. Uncle Mike liked his beer, so it was a pity he was something of a lightweight. He was okay when sober, but that was usually during the day when he was at work, or in the evenings when he was still in the mood to deal with his own family. He only drank when he had to deal with her, it seemed. It didn't take much to get him drunk and when he was drunk, it didn't take much to piss him off. However, Misty seemed to be the only one who truly got on his nerves. Damn punk kid, he hadn't asked for an extra brat to feed. Why couldn't she shut up? What did she think she was, a damn canary? And why couldn't she stay out of trouble? Always sneaking out to drink and meet boys, she needed to be taught a lesson, that's what. That lesson usually came in the form of a smack upside the head. Sometimes he got into it and the lecture escalated, each point punctuated by his fists. All it taught her was to be more careful.

If Misty snuck out, it was for a few hours where she wouldn't have to worry about arousing the drunken wrath of her uncle. If she stayed out late on dates, it was because she was desperate for affection and was ready to take whatever she could get. She wound up giving more than she received and was blessed only with the title of "easy" as early as sixth grade. The boys were usually nice to her but they never stayed long. Several of them had tempers like her uncle, but she took it in stride, assuming this was just the way things were. It was Randy who introduced her to cigarettes and alcohol in eighth grade, Sammy who got her started on the little things that looked like cigarettes but weren't and taught her to swallow pills her Freshman year of high school. If her aunt and uncle knew, they never said anything. If she got herself pregnant, that was just more money coming into the house. They didn't care what she did, so long as her antics didn't make the rest of the family look bad and Misty was only too glad to keep her misadventures to herself.

Joey had been her last boyfriend, a hanger-on from high school she'd never quite managed to get rid of. He wasn't anything special, indeed he would have been stupid if he wasn't so clever. He'd done poorly in school but had a thief's genius to make up for his academic shortcomings. Misty had no doubt he'd eventually mature into a used car salesmen or something similar. For the moment, he settled for tinkering with car bits in his parent's garage and plaguing Misty when she was home. She didn't really like him, but he was better than nothing. One more thing she wasn't telling Alex about.

Mikey's (her oldest cousin) graduation party had gone off without a hitch. Misty'd spent the entire time setting out food and clearing away empty paper plates, soda, and beer cans. She'd emptied a few herself when her uncle wasn't looking. By the end of the evening they were both plastered and an angry drunk and a happy drunk in the same room is never a good combination. By the time her uncle shoved her down the stairs to her room, she could barely stand up much less move. The basement was finished, but still a basement and the cold damp air didn't help her aching body. She thought about escaping out the window of her room to try her luck at wheedling some comfort out of Joey, but it was too high and out of reach for her sore muscles to stretch. The door to the stairs slammed shut and locked with a click. They wouldn't be letting her out till morning. It didn't matter. It wasn't as if she could really move, anyway. Stretching out an arm, she clicked on her beloved radio, careful to keep the volume low. She then painfully dug around in the bottom drawer of her dresser. The shoebox inside had what she wanted. Lighting up, she began to smoke her pain away.

She really didn't mind living in the basement. Heck, she could stay down here unbothered almost as long as the rest of the family could on the upper level of the house. The big cement room had been blocked off into one main room, a smaller room (hers), a sort of over-sized closet for storage, and a bathroom. Her uncle kept a small bar down in the main room along with a ping-pong table, some of her cousin's old kid toys, Christmas decorations, Mikey's weights, and other random junk. He didn't keep the bar locked, so Misty helped herself. The alcohol didn't numb the pain so much as the brain cells processing the feeling. Oh she still hurt, she hurt like hell, she just didn't care anymore. Well, okay, maybe she cared a little. No longer able to dismiss the increasing ache in her stomach, she staggered to the bathroom. Yikes. Well, she'd been wondering when it would hit. Her cycle was anything but regular but that happened when you drank, and smoked stuff besides tobacco, and gave back your lunch. Something else she wasn't telling Alex. A girl had to stay skinny somehow. Gross. No sense in even trying to wash her panties out. She threw them in the trash and her jeans in the sink. It must be some sort of menstrual karma; if you missed a month or two, the blood and the cramps came back compounded. Weird. And sticky. The goo had trickled down her legs, leaving smeared red streaks. Stripping off her remaining clothes, she stepped into the shower stall and turned the water on. It hurt too much to stand so she sat on the floor, the warmth of the water comforting but the usually gentle patter of the falling drops felt like tiny hammers on her bruised back. She didn't care. It was something to focus on besides her stomach. Somewhere beneath her drug stupor she noted that the sheer amount of thick, dark blood trickling from her body, across the shower floor and down the round drain in the center should probably worry her. Except it didn't. She'd had periods this painful and this heavy before. She'd live. It just didn't feel like she would at the moment.

As clean as she was going to get, she dried off and did her best to staunch the flow, doubling up with both a pad and tampon. Pirating yet another bottle from her uncle's medicinal stash, she stiffly crept back to her room and closed the door. It wasn't stealing. He'd bought the stuff with HER money, so technically, it belonged to her more than it did him. She didn't feel guilty prying the cork out with her broken teeth but did blink when one of her canines remained stuck in it. Damn. She'd been hoping that one would resettle in its place. Oh well. She'd just have to smile with her mouth closed from now on. Pulling the tooth out of the cork, she set it aside on the dresser top near her radio. Maybe she should put it under her pillow. She giggled at the thought. Never mind. The alcohol would disinfect the empty socket and help it close. Let the healing process begin.

She didn't really like liquor, it burned all the way down, but it tasted better than beer and got the job done more quickly. Still, she was more than halfway through the bottle of…she couldn't even tell what, the intricate letters of the label were beginning to blur together, when she finally thought about putting it down. She'd already used it to wash down several pills and the air of her room had become hazy with smoke- tobacco and otherwise. Yeah. She should probably stop. That was one thing she'd promised herself: she'd never TRY to do it. Not on purpose. So, yeah, she should probably quit for tonight. Maybe one more regular cigarette. That wouldn't hurt her. She didn't want to try to sleep yet. Her stomach still hurt like a bitch and the pad and tampon had already admitted defeat. Her pajama shorts were becoming dark and sodden with the overflow, but doing anything other than lying half sprawled on her bed was out of the question. The radio played faithfully for her but it wasn't the same. She wished she had somebody to help her, or just talk to her. Hell, even Joey would be welcome at this point, though she doubted he'd be much help since all he was interested in was presently blocked by saturated cotton. Clumsily latching a hand around her cell, she did the only other thing she could think of: she called Alex.


	10. In This Dress

"So?" he asked, rising as the miniature physician strode up to him. Alex was unusually tall and Dr. Karl Straussen unusually short, but for the moment it was Alex who stood in the smaller man's shadow, holding his breath over the possible answer. Dr. Karl nodded and Alex let out his breath before he'd even finished speaking.

"We have her stabilized. It'll take several hours to flush her system and she needed a transfusion, but…" he paused to adjust his glasses. When he looked up, he was smiling a little. "She should be all right."

"Good," Alex breathed, dropping heavily back into the plastic chair which creaked loudly in protest.

"You got her here just in time," Dr. Karl went on, his thick accent creating "v's" where there should have been "w's". "With such blood loss and all that poison in her system, she probably would have lasted only a few more hours."

"But she _will_ be okay, right?" he asked, sitting up straight again. Dr. Karl nodded.

"How bad was she? Nobody's told me much of anything since I brought her in."

Dr. Karl straightened his glasses again, appearing somewhat uncomfortable.

"Are you sure you want the laundry list?" he asked.

Alex nodded. "Yeah. I'll need to know and so will Rick."

"All right then." The small man took a clip board from under his elbow and began to read from the many pages pinned in place. "Contusions, lots of them, mostly on her back, arms, legs, and two to the face. There are small stress fractures in both her left cheek and her upper left arm, she has also chipped several of her teeth on that side and lost one entirely."

"Oh! I have it." Alex shifted and dug in his pocket, producing the tooth and handing it to the doctor who accepted it with a nonplussed blink.

"It seems to be in one piece," he remarked, looking over it before pocketing it himself. "I'm no dentist but it might be able to be put back since it was extracted so recently."

"She pulled a cork out with her teeth."

"That would do it," Dr. Karl agreed with a slight grimace.

"What else?"

"Well, she has no other broken bones or obvious physical injuries. I'm still waiting for the official results of the tox screen, but they should be impressive. I will hand it to her, she did know what she was doing. Few narcotics users are so careful to make sure that whatever they are taking will not interact with everything else. However, the sheer amount of drugs plus the alcohol on top of it all really didn't help. Her stomach's been pumped and we're running an IV to clear her system now, but it will take a few hours to wash it all away. There are also text-book markers for bulimia; her weight and the condition of her teeth. She is obviously undernourished which is bad enough by itself but compounded vith everything else…" He sighed. "It's a good thing you got there when you did."

"Anything else?"

Dr. Karl shifted his glasses again. "You said she was your girlfriend, correct?"

An uncomfortable flutter began low in Alex's stomach.

"Yeah," he replied, wondering what that had to do with anything.

"Had you been…intimate…recently?"

Alex blinked. "Come again?"

"I'm sorry, but I have to ask."

Still stunned with the mild shock of the initial question, Alex managed to force a bewildered "No, why?"

A corner of Dr. Karl's mouth twitched, betraying his reluctance to relay whatever it was he had to say. Dash it all, this was one aspect of medicine that never got any easier.

"She vas pregnant."

It was a very good thing Alex was already seated or he would have surely broken the ugly yet undeserving plastic hall chair with the sudden descent of weight from his buckled knees. Instead, he simply blinked.

"Excuse me?" he asked blankly.

"Pregnant," Dr. Karl repeated with a reluctant sigh.

Alex's brain was still struggling to put itself in gear. "How long?"

"Two months?" Dr. Karl shook his head. "The embryo probably hadn't implanted yet and everything got knocked loose when she was beaten. If it is any consolation, her body would not have been able to support it as under-nourished and full of poison as it was. It would have self-aborted, most likely in another week or two."

It wasn't any consolation at all.

"One other thing, while I am delivering bad news," Dr. Karl went on. "There is some scarring on her uterus…I doubt this is the fist time she's miscarried. I'm very sorry."

Coherent thoughts were finally beginning to settle as the whirlwind inside his mind gradually slowed. The first concrete item he managed to lay hold of was word "miscarried". Misty had miscarried. Which would require her to have been pregnant. Which meant she had to have been sleeping with someone. Dr. Karl has said she'd been about two months along. Except Alex and Misty had been going out for the past six months and she was most definitely _not_ sleeping with HIM. Not, he reflected, that she hadn't tried. Wait a minute. Who the hell _had_ she been sleeping with, then?! Further more, had it been consensual? And while he was rewinding, hadn't Dr. Karl said this had happened to her before? Oh there was going to be Pain and Death later, in that order. Somewhere in the back of his mind, the thought that she had technically been cheating on him surfaced and poked at him lightly. He cast it aside, however, since up until a few hours ago their relationship had only been a cover for his own orientation. She would have had no reason to be loyal to him in anything other than platonic friendship. It had probably never occurred to her that seeing someone else might bother him. And now that he thought about it, it did bother him. A lot. A WHOLE lot. His fury settled low and cold in the pit of his stomach, kept in check only by the self-made promise that there would be Rocky Mountain Oysters for dinner later.

"Mr. Rushford?"

Alex blinked, pulling himself back to the here and now. He hadn't realized Dr. Karl was still speaking.

"I'm sorry, what?" he asked.

"I said, are you all right?"

"What? Yeah. I'm fine." It wasn't true, but it would be after he'd broken some faces and other things. Besides, the most important thing at the moment was Misty. "So…will she be okay?"

Dr. Karl nodded. "She'll recover, yes, but she has a long way to go. Bruises and stress fractures heal, eventually her body chemistry will balance itself out again. She's taken a beating in every sense of the word, but she will live. What I am more worried about his her mental state." He tapped his forehead to illustrate. Alex nodded.

"What'll happen to her?"

The doctor smiled a little. "I've already authorized a vacation of sorts for her at Swallowhaven. It's a clinic specifically for supers. She'll be able to recover in peace and get used to things again before she goes active duty."

Alex nodded. "Okay. Is that far?"

"It's about an hour from here, about two from your college. I'm afraid she'll have to forfeit the rest of this semester, but her health is more important."

Two hours. He could do that.

"Do they allow visitors?"

"Certainly. However, give her some time to grow back into herself. She can't rely on you for everything, she needs to learn to look to herself. She needs to understand that she isn't helpless."

"Okay." It made sense in a way. As much as he'd wanted to save her, he didn't want her becoming dependent on him. "Can I see her?"

"She'll be asleep for several hours yet, but yes, you're welcome to sit with her."

"Thanks."

She did look a little better. The fact that she was no longer drenched to her hips in blood made a marked improvement; amazing what a little soap and some clean clothes would do. Still, the thin, pink cotton hospital gown didn't do much for her either. The cheap, stiff fabric folded and gaped oddly around her neck, only emphasizing how unnaturally thin she was. Her hair had been washed, but not brushed or even very well dried and it hung in straggly, sodden clumps around her face. She was still out cold and was likely to be for some time yet, according to Dr. Karl. That was alright. Misty needed the rest and he was content to watch her sleep. Her head lay tilted slightly to one side on the pillow so that her closed eyes turned towards him, almost as if she knew he was there. Maybe she did.

It occurred to him how he'd never really wondered what happened to people AFTER you'd saved the day. What did happen? He'd rescued Misty and with Rick's help, would free her from the proverbial dungeon but…then what? Until Rick got her paperwork sorted out, short of bodily hurling her family out the door (which would have been very satisfying at this point), there was little he could do to protect her. The state still thought she was sixteen. And sixteen, he reflected, was still a kid. Misty had probably gone through a lot more than most people her age, but on paper, Alex still looked like the bad guy. He hoped Rick would get the red tape unraveled soon or else he was going to be in some seriously hot water. But even after Rick had the files and folders straight, what then? She was over eighteen, so nobody _had_ to take legal responsibility for her. Alex had no idea if she had any other family members that would be willing to take her or even if Misty would be willing to put up with them. As of right now she had no home, no job, and owed a lot of money to both the college and the hospital. He wondered if Rick would let him taker her home with him and then chuckled at the fit Charles was likely to have. He hoped Ray was all right. What could he say? He couldn't bear to see a stray super go to waste.

Leaning his elbows on the bed, he took one of Misty's hands and held it. Her bony fingers were cold in his and he pressed them gently between his hands in order to warm them. Funny. He'd never been terribly interested in girls, preferring the company of other men, even finding them attractive. It was a secret he'd worked desperately to keep and Misty had willingly helped him keep up the pretense. Except somewhere in the chaos of the last couple hours the reason for secrecy had suddenly gone "poof". He never would have considered going out with Misty, much less even noticed her if Jessica Sanderson hadn't randomly canceled their date. The irony. He didn't think he'd ever be grateful to a girl like Jessica for anything. Perhaps it was because Misty was so jarringly unlike the girls he'd dated that he liked her so well. Maybe that was what he should have been looking at all along: somebody who didn't fit the mold of archetypal female. Misty, while undeniably a girl, was not as grossly obvious about it. He'd never even thought of her that way. She was just Misty, his friend, her gender a mere footnote and comparatively unimportant detail. It was the person, he realized, not the package that he was in love with. And he did love her. It wasn't hero's instinct that kept him in the chair by her bed, her little hand slowly warming between both of his. Certainly he would have given himself to keep her safe, but not because it was the Right Thing To Do. He didn't just want to rescue her and fix her, get her the help she needed. He wanted to be there as she got well and afterwards, when she was ready to join the outside world. He wanted to see if she was as beautiful in new clothes that fit and her hair combed and even as she was right now, emaciated and bedraggled, out cold in a hospital bed. Sniffing at the sudden tightness in his throat, it took him a moment to realize his eyes were welling up. Well, he could cry if he wanted to, dammit. It had been a very stressful…six hours? Wow. Well, a little over two hours to get here and other two-and-a-half waiting around in the hospital. Who really cared. Misty was going to be okay, that was the important part. She liked to tease him about his repeated butchering of his own macho image. He certainly wasn't feeling overly macho at the moment, just weary and extremely relieved. Being careful not to lean on any wire or tubing, he leaned his arms and chest on the edge of the bed, letting his head rest close to hers. With a closed-lipped sigh he let his tears fall. It was about time someone showed remorse over what had happened to her. It wasn't, Alex promised himself, ever going to happen again.


	11. Coffee

Alex checked the address one more time before pulling into a parking spot on the far side of the center. There seemed to be a lot of excitement shimmering around the coffee shop, but maybe it was just his own nervous anticipation. He'd gone nearly all summer without seeing her, limited to phone calls and emails as their busy schedules permitted.

It had become an almost classical courtship in his mind, the distance of text and voice allowing him to say things that her shining, manic presence turned to silence in his mouth. Absence was also having the predictable effect on his heart, to the point where he'd been unable to focus for the past three days. Now, anticipation was making him shake.

He stopped just inside the entrance, scanning the crowd with a hero's awareness that he couldn't get rid of even when he wasn't on duty. Catching sight of her made breathing painful for a moment; her sudden closeness, even expected, was an electric charge along his nerves.

The dress was a little tight and a little short in a way that suggested that it had been outgrown since the last time she'd had occasion to wear it. She'd put on some weight over the summer, enough so that she wasn't quite so painfully skinny, but not enough to fill her out. Still clean, then. Healthier than he'd ever seen her, if he was completely honest with himself. He'd held the belief that, given time and food, the bones of her potential could blossom into real beauty, and it looked like his guesses weren't far off. It was still early in her recovery, and he could see someone quite easily calling her pretty.

He ordered an iced chai and took a seat not far from the stage. She still hadn't seen him, engrossed as she was in her discussion with the pianist.

The bells on the door jangled for the millionth time, allowing someone either in or out. She didn't look up, too engrossed in trying to remember the lyrics to the song she'd chosen. She hoped her audience of caffeine-indulgent college kids liked folk songs. Of course, that was what one generally heard when there was a live performance at a coffee shop. She nodded distractedly at the shaggy-haired guy who had volunteered to play piano for her while she sang. She already had her guitar tuned and ready but wanted something extra just incase she lost her nerve or her voice or both. Tugging self-consciously at the hem of her dress, she shouldered the old stringed instrument. It fit over her narrow shoulders perfectly, the same could not be said for the peasant-style gown. It was the only one she owned and consequently she'd chosen it over her usual ratty sweater and jeans. However, it had fit better the last time she'd had it on. It had been a struggle to get it over her shoulders and the seams of the empire bustline were straining, the hem far too high above her knees to have passed inspection at school. Except she wasn't at school. Hopefully no one would take offense.

Turning she faced the assembled crowd of mismatched tables and chairs and froze in the act of smiling. Alex sat near the back of the room, the hulk of his broad shoulders unmistakable. Her stage fright warmed and shuddered briefly and she had to remind herself to breathe. Swallowing hard, she felt herself smiling. If he'd seen her, she couldn't tell, the dim lights of tea candles kept his face mostly obscured in low shadow. Shaking herself, she quickly tore her eyes away. The café owner acting as MC had just inexpertly read someone's name off a hand-written list. Hurriedly, she took her seat.

There were, perhaps, a dozen entries that night, all of which were ahead of her. Misty didn't mind going last, it let her gauge how hard it would be to measure up to everyone else. While there were several other guitarists, none of them exhibited more than usual mediocre skill. Everyone sang or played something. The Beatles, The Mama's and The Papa's, and Janise Joplin seemed to be the favorites of the night. So far her money was on the guy with the saxophone. At least it wouldn't be too hard to out-do the other self-titled folk singers. Upon a badly-mangled pronunciation of her name, Misty hefted her guitar and stood.

"Here Comes The Sun" might have been an overly well-known tune, but it was one she knew was safe. The extent of her super abilities was still rather vague and she didn't want to risk any damage to anything or anyone. After a false start in which the pianist changed keys three times before landing on the right one, she timidly launched into song. It began well enough, the long-memorized lyrics coming easily, her hands working the strings almost of their own volition. When she reached the end, however, she couldn't stop. The pianist had dropped out at some point but Misty took no notice of him, instead segueing into "Fool On The Hill".

She had intended to sing with her eyes closed the whole time in order to block out any potential freeze-ups. However, the music slowly possessing her, she carefully lifted her gaze from her hands on the strings to the watching crowd. Everyone was staring at her, attention fully fixed, drinks and snacks entirely forgotten. Her throat constricted slightly though the sound remained even. Raising her gaze a bit higher, she caught sight of Alex's smile, gleaming whitely in the dim ambiance. Everyone else faded into shadow. Out of verses, she switched to "Norwegian Wood" for a finale.

Misty stole the show. There was no question in his mind about it, after the rest of the contestants staggered through their acts. The only person who had come close was the heavy black man who held his saxophone like it was a lover, and even he paled beside the shining perfection of Misty's set. It took the judges all of two minutes to come to a decision, and Misty was accepting the gift basket that was first prize. She congratulated the second-prize winner and his saxophone, and was immediately surrounded by enthusiastic fans. Alex decided it was prudent to wait a few minutes before approaching her. After all the excitement and anticipation, he found himself nervous.

Misty apparently had other ideas; she was using the gift basket as a bulky weapon to fight her way through the crowd over to him. "Thanks, guys, really, but give me a minute, okay?" she was saying as she came over. "This guy came a long way to see me."

Alex stood, which caused a few people to back up a little as well. "Hi," he said.

She looked awkward for a second, then dropped the basket and tackled him. A double armful of very enthusiastic Misty, he decided, was not a bad thing at all.

Before she'd even thought about it she was in his arms, her face pressed into his shoulder, her arms locked around his neck. It was like flinging herself at a brick wall, her scant ninety-eight pounds laughable against his almost three-hundred. Her skirt had gotten bunched up dangerously but she didn't care. Besides, there wasn't anything terribly exciting about plain white cotton. She was just happy to be close to him again, her whole being taught and giddy with happiness. He was beautifully warm, his muscles soft yet solid under his clothes scented only with the clean fragrance of soap, the slippery, silky fabric of his jersey pleasant against her cheek and chest. She hugged him tightly, her ear-to-ear smile hidden in his neck.

_Later_, she promised herself, collecting every shred of reserve she could find to keep from kissing him then and there. She doubted anyone would really mind, but once she got started, she wasn't sure she could stop and she was pretty sure everyone else would mind _that_.

After what seemed like far too short a time, Alex set her down again, keeping his hands on her shoulders. She smiled back at him under the warm weight of his palms, both hands enough to obscure almost her entire chest. Perhaps that was the idea. The dress was old and tight and didn't truly fit her now that she'd but on twenty pounds. It had been low to start with and now that she filled it out a bit more, it was probably more than a little distracting, especially since Alex dwarfed her by a good twelve inches or more. She smiled up at him, trying hard to keep her lips closed over her broken teeth but eventually splitting into a grin. It had been far too long since she'd seen him last. She hoped he wouldn't mind that she'd gotten so fat.

"It's so good to see you," he sighed, squeezing her shoulders ever so slightly. She was glowing like a small star, soft and hot under his hands, and he had to fight off the urge to kiss her by reminding himself that he didn't want to embarrass her. "You look great." _Great_ seemed like an understatement in that moment; _beautiful_ was much more appropriate, but... but. And in her presence again, he found his ability to communicate the full breadth of his feelings closing down, dried words cleaving his tongue to the roof of his mouth. Things he could have said easily in e-mail or even over the phone seemed utterly impossible now.

Alex's sudden case of tongue-tie seemed to be contagious. The words that had flowed so effortlessly from her lips before had suddenly fled, leaving her alone and silent. She felt her cheeks go red with warmth as she struggled for something to say.

"Thanks for coming," she finally managed, all too aware of her new-found band of groupies still gathered around her. "Gimme a break, I'll sign autographs later!" she chuckled, trying to wave them all off. A couple did retreat and the rest slowly dispersed as it became clear she hadn't the attention to spare for anyone but the huge man in the ball cap. He'd mentioned getting a buzz for the summer and his smiling face seemed different without the usual mass of curls peeking from beneath the cap and around his face. Misty briefly wondered if she should have gotten hers evened out?

"So um did you have any trouble finding the place?" she asked deciding to start with something safely mundane as they retreated to the back table from which Alex had watched the show. Her performance was over. There was no way she should be this jittery. It was only Alex. She needed a cigarette.

He shook his head. "No, you give good directions."

"Do you mind?" She raised an eyebrow briefly along with the question as she dug a pack out of her battered old shoulder bag. The room was already hazy with cigarette smoke and she doubted one more would matter. She'd recently switched to cloves at E's suggestion which didn't have the offensive odor of straight tobacco. Still, Alex didn't smoke himself and it was only polite to ask. Taking a seat, she tugged fruitlessly at her hem yet again. The danged thing was just too little. She _had_ kept it a long time. It was a relic from high school, an old Easter dress if she remembered correctly. She hadn't thought she'd grown much taller between sixteen and twenty. Surely the recently acquired hips and bustline didn't take up _that_ much room? Maybe they did. Misty shifted a bit in her seat, straightening her back, doing her best to alleviate the already taught cotton and dangerously stretched seams. There just wasn't enough fabric. She thought about crossing her legs as usual but quickly decided against it. The frayed hem already pulled as far down as it would go still stopped short around the middle of her thighs. She'd just have to try to remember to keep her knees glued together.

Accepting congratulations and a cup of green tea from the passing waitress, Misty took a careful sip from the hot liquid and nearly scalded her tongue. So much for refuge in refreshment. Setting the mug down, she smiled shyly.

"So um, how you been?"

"Good," he said, adding sugar to a new cup of chai. She seemed as suddenly awkward as he felt, and he wondered if it was the audience or just him. "I can't wait for break to be over so my workload will lessen, and isn't that ridiculous?" Maybe she didn't actually want to see him. She'd never been anything but talkative before. Of course, she was generally under the influence of some sort of mood-altering substance; this was the first time he'd ever seen her completely clean. In a way, this was their first face-to-face meeting. Surely some awkwardness was to be expected.

It was awkward. Very. The nicotine and caffeine weren't cutting it. If anything, they were making it worse. What she wouldn't give for a shot of...something. Anything. Anything to take the edge off. But she'd promised. Almost four months clean and all it'd gotten her was twenty pounds and a horrible case of nerves. Maybe he wouldn't like her as much now that she couldn't think of anything to say, couldn't seem to meet his eyes without flushing bright red.

They agreed that it was a nice evening, that the tea was good, that the saxophone player was amazing, and then they were out of safe topics, and, hesitant to break into new territory, they stared at each other for a few minutes. Finally, Alex adjusted the brim of his hat and asked, "Do you want to get out of here? Go get some co- er - dinner?"

That brought a smile to her lips, her broken teeth peeking through her grin. At least she wasn't the only one who was a little nervous.


	12. Masked Woman

"Haven't had enough caffeine?" she teased. "Sure." She wasn't really hungry, and her seams were already straining, but if Alex wanted to go get something to eat, then they'd go get something to eat. After all, he was probably hungry and it took a lot to fuel a guy as big as Alex.

"There's a place up the street that's pretty good. It isn't far. We can walk if you want." She knew he'd driven but the restaurant was less than a block away and he was probably a little saddle sore from sitting so long. Alex was one of those guys who needed to be able to move. Collecting her bag and guitar she stood.

"Sounds good," he said with an acknowledging nod. If nothing else, the restaurant probably wasn't built for fragile hippie-types, and he wouldn't feel quite so lumbering. "I couldn't find my flannel," he commented as he held the door for her, and she laughed, and it was a totally natural Misty-laugh, and it reminded him that beneath the dress and the performance anxiety, it was just Misty, whose hair he had held while she vomited, who poked fun at Ray's stuffiness and Charles's bad moods, whose midnight phone calls had often lasted until dawn. Being awkward with Misty was just ridiculous. He was acting like a guy in one of those stupid romantic comedies his sisters liked, who suddenly figured out that his best friend was a woman, and a hot one at that, which meant he had to fall in love with her and act like an idiot. He'd always thought that particular reaction was just absurd. Misty was his best female friend, all the same, even if she was suddenly shaped more like Garnet than Eiko. _Personality-wise, she's more like Selphie_, he mused, and the snarky voice in his head that somehow always sounded like Hojo said, i_And now you sound like the worst kind of drooling fanboy, comparing real people to video game girls. Get a grip, Alex. Buy the girl dinner and quit thinking like a fifteen-year-old._

_A fifteen-year-old wouldn't have been able to get past the thought about getting beneath her dress__,_ he pointed out.

_And now you are arguing with the voice in your head_. Brilliant.

She had to chuckle about the flannel line.

"Eh, that's okay, it's too warm for that anyway." That felt better, more like herself, more like herself around him. It was just Alex. There really was no point in feeling shy around him considering what he'd helped her through since they'd initially met. Smiling quietly, her teeth hidden behind curving lips, she reached for his hand. Alex was an odd cross of savior and lover to her but it never felt strange. At the moment, it was just nice to be close to him.

The walk to the restaurant wasn't far and open tables plentiful. She wasn't hungry but let Alex buy her a cup of soup. The disappearance of the teenaged waitress left them with blank silence once again. Though this time, it wasn't quite as awkward.

"Good to see you again," she told him keeping her voice quiet, an old habit born of paranoia of overbearing guardians. "I really missed you..."

It was true, but the words had always carried an extra layer of meaning for her. There were still a lot of things she couldn't admit to Alex, so she told him something else instead.

"Finally switched back to single shifts at the diner since classes are starting up again. And I've been clean for almost four months. I've gotten fat though, as you can see." As if it weren't perfectly obvious. "I should go shopping... None of my stuff fits anymore. Granted I've had it FOREVER but...I feel guilty using my um...side pay...for stuff like that."

Classic. It's what she did around him, she rambled. Not like she had anything new or terribly interesting to tell him, but it was nice to actually talk directly to him instead of through a phone or typed words in an email. Maybe they could go visit the fake lake later. That would be nice.

"I missed you, too," he said, trying to put as much meaning into the sentence as she had. He didn't want to push her by admitting things she wasn't ready for, but he wanted her to know.

It took every trick she'd learned in the last ten years to keep from sqeeing like the shameless fanthing she was. Maybe he meant the same thing, maybe he didn't, but his tone of voice made her feel warm and gooey inside. Kind of like hot fudge. Gah. Of all the times to think of food! Still, desert had this strange habit of creeping to mind whenever she thought of Alex. Perhaps because he was so sweet? Okay, now it was just getting disgusting. If she thought about it much longer she'd be giving herself cavities. Eh well. She needed to have her teeth done anyway. Where was the harm in indulging in a little mental chocolate? Blushing a little, she edged a bit closer to where he sat.

"You know, every time I think I've gotten my brain wrapped around how psychotic women are about their weight, one of you does something to surprise me again," he said, shaking his head at her. "You are _still_ way too thin; if you ask me, you could stand to put on another twenty pounds or so." He grinned. "If nothing else, every time I hug you, I'm afraid I'm going to crush you." As small as she was, anything more complicated than hugging her was totally out of the question. He wondered, not for the first time, how Superman and Mr. Incredible managed to have romantic interests.

She blushed deeper and shook her head around a sheepish, broken-toothed grin. She might have managed to kick the pills and the alcohol and other substances, but food still loomed over her as an imposing enemy. Purging was still part of her daily routine and there was NO WAY she was admitting that to him. He'd only be disappointed in her and she didn't want that, not for the world. In her own mind, she was a still a beast, way over the 78lb limit of Twiggy's "perfect weight". Dr. Karl was still faithfully trying to convince her that it was not a crime to weigh more than eighty pounds but she was having trouble believing him despite what the national height and weight standards said. She still felt huge. Her high school-vintage wardrobe really didn't help.

Alex might joke about her having proportions similar to a toothpick, but she was a lot sturdier than she looked. Most Supers were. She and Ray were proof of that. Neither of them were very big, but her body and his had each taken more than their share of abuse both physical and chemical. Misty might even be able to lay claim to being the stronger of the two, having inflicted more needless damage on herself than her slightly stuffy friend.

She'd suffered at the hands of men nearly as big as Alex, though admittedly not as strong. Something else she wasn't admitting to him even on pain of death. What she might admit to, with red cheeks and a mortified look that would rival even Ray's assaulted modesty, was that she wouldn't mind a hug and a bit more. It was the "bit more" that did it. She'd had a little too much fun at times daydreaming about it, though how such a thing might work in reality still escaped her. "Very carefully" was the only thing she could come up with.

Giving herself a mental slap, she pulled herself back to reality. Now was not the time to be waxing mushy. Later, she told herself yet again. Maybe. She resisted the urge to hide her face in her hand. Oh good grief. From one extreme to the other. This really shouldn't be this awkward.

"Of course, having told you that you should put on weight, I'm now going to suggest exercise as the next activity. But if I have to sit still much longer, I'm going to go nuts." He shifted in his seat. "Working a desk job gives me a lot less tolerance for sitting still on the weekends, and between the driving and the concert, I'm about at my limit."

She laughed and smiled. It was actually the excuse she'd been hoping for.

"Fine by me." Pushing her chair back and grabbing her trusty shoulder bag, she stood. "Wanna go to the fake lake?"

"A fake lake? Please, native guide, lead me to this awe-inspiring example of environmental architecture."

She couldn't help cracking up at this. Grabbing his hand again, she led him outside.

"Come then, white man." Misty was paler than he was, but why ruin a perfectly good corny joke over trivialities? "Actually it's an extension of the reservoir but that's not nearly as fun to say as 'fake lake'. It's got cement walls to it so it's about as fake as it gets."

The so named fake lake was a bit of a hike from the restaurant but Misty was used to walking and was certain Alex wouldn't mind. The huge cement basin was situated in the middle of a park surrounded on three sides by highway and crossed on the fourth by a long bridge. Despite the continual flash of head and tail lights the spot was surprisingly picturesque, the noise of the freeway a distant hum in the background. The trees- some left there by the landscapers, some ornamental and newly planted- swallowed most of the dissonant "fwoosh" as cars raced by, the thick grass masking the rest. Picnic tables and benches stood scattered here and there, along with some rusty oil barrels that had been converted into trash cans.

"This is indeed a marvel," he said, grinning down at her. "Truly the gods of suburbia have blessed your tribe indeed, to have provided such a fine place for their weary worshippers."

The day had been warm and so Misty hadn't bothered with a jacket. In town the huddle of buildings, labyrinth of asphalt streets, and many electric lights as kept the cooling air comfortable. Now on the edge of the expanse of open water, the evening breeze blew chilly indeed. At the risk of her seams, Misty hugged her arms to chest in order to preserve a little heat.

"Cold?" he asked.

She shrugged. "A little." The conversation got no further.

A squeal of breaks penetrated the relative quiet of the park along with a sickening crunch of metal. Both looked up just in time to see a big beige sedan make an elegant swan dive off the bridge that spanned the far end of the man-made lake. A few other cars ran up close behind it but mercifully stopped short, crashing into the guard rail rather than going right through it. Policemen jumped out and peered down over the edge, weapons drawn but firing no shots. A breathless moment of freefall and the car hit the water nose-first with an almighty splash. Such huge automobiles were not referred to as "boats" without reason, but size did not equal buoyancy. The windows must have been intact and rolled up or else the vehicle would never have resurfaced. After the initial splash the car bobbed for a moment before its waterlogged engine began to weigh it down, causing the hood to sink into the dark water. Misty glanced briefly at Alex before darting into a convenient thicket of low bushes. He had already torn off his jersey and cap and was running full-tilt towards the lake. Once in costume, Misty followed right behind him.

Not for the first time, Alex blessed E for her clever designs of his clothing. Youthful necessity had brought him to her, as he hadn't had enough control over his own strength to keep from destroying flimsy cotton and polyester with the ordinary movements of a normal day, but sheer appreciation of her skill kept him coming back. E's designs always fit smoothly over his uniform and pulled off at a moment's notice, even over shoes, something unusual indeed for jeans. So it was Alex who started running, but Cobalt who hit the water spare seconds later. He had a feeling that the problem here would be visibility, because the odds were that the cement pond was not terribly deep, but the water was murky enough just below the surface. There were at least two victims, and possibly more, depending on whether there were children in the back seat. Misty - or, rather, Melody - was another variable; they'd never worked together before, and he really had no idea how she dealt with such physical problems.

He found the car by simple dint of running into it. Cobalt pulled himself along the body of the car to the door, and avoided broken glass entirely by pulling it off the hinges. A panicked hand hit him in the head, and he paused to guide the flailing civilian towards light and air. One down, at least one to go

The car hadn't sunk more than a few feet but the sudden change in pressure and complete lack of oxygen caught the remaining three passengers by surprise. Melody was still paddling out towards the sinking automobile when Cobalt surfaced with the first passenger, a frightened-looking woman who was doing her best to gulp oxygen and shriek at the same time. Not waiting for an explanation Melody plunged underwater after the other passengers undoubtedly still inside. Her powers weren't going to be much use, but even an extra pair of hands was helpful in this instance. Bubbles and muffled sound rose from the car, at least one other person stuck inside. Clawing her way towards it, she pulled herself through the gap where the driver's side door had once been. A man sat in the passenger's seat, fumbling with the seatbelt, hampered by an object still clutched in his hand. Though his cheeks bulged with conserved air his face was already growing red. He didn't have much left. Strapped to the back in car seats, two children spent their precious oxygen in bubbled screams. If she hurried, she might be able to unstrap one of the three. The man would have to wait.

Pushing past him, she drifted towards the two children and started pulling at the straps of the youngest one, probably no more than two or three years old. He sputtered weakly in the dark water as she got the harness unhooked. Without really thinking about it, she covered his little mouth with her own and breathed. The child blinked and stared at her. Miming for both of them to hold their noses, she repeated the procedure with the second child. The six year old took her instructions better than his brother and clamped a small hand over his nose. The man was blinking stupidly at her. Turning to him, she gave up her last bit of conserved air to him before pushing out of the automobile. The older brother began to give a watery yell but clapped a hand over his mouth at Melody's gesture. The man took it less well and tried to grab her ankle as she wiggled out of the vehicle, the smallest child in her arms. She kicked her leg but he wouldn't let go. Instead he whacked her with a hard and heavy metal object. A gun. Oh dear. Even with a sealed chamber the odds of it successfully firing were low. With little other choice Misty scrunched her torso and kicked him in the face. A muffled "BANG" and he released her. With a quick glance to make sure the older brother hadn't been hit, Melody kicked for the surface.

Cobalt had already gotten the woman to the shallow part of the fake lake and was returning to go after the other passengers.

"Here," she told him, shoving the squalling two-year-old at him. "There's two more. Looks like a car jacking. One kid and the bad guy. He's got a gun. I can keep them breathing. Give this kid back to him mom then help me."

Without another word she plunged back under the surface, unaware of the thin trail of red she was leaving behind her.

Cobalt did no more than cast a worried glance after his impromptu partner before he waded up to meet the frantic mother. There was no time to worry, no time for anything except Saving The Day. Toddler safely restored, he took three running steps and dove just as the bottom sloped sharply into the depths. He pulled himself through the water as quickly as he could, mentally cursing how big he was. This was an arena where size was definitely a minus.

He could make out the shapes of Melody and the passenger, locked in a panicked struggle. He was waving his gun, and as Cobalt got closer, he realized that the man had Melody by the hair and was holding her mouth to his. Kiss of life, indeed.

A flash of fury that was pure Alex propelled Cobalt across the remaining distance. Up over the car, and he yanked off the passenger-side door. It had the double benefit of startling the carjacker and giving Cobalt room to work. He caught the man's gun hand in a crushing grip, rendering both hand and weapon ineffective, and started to pull the man away from Melody. The seat belt held him in place, so Cobalt pulled at it until the bolts holding the harness in place tore free. With the man's attention on his injured hand and Cobalt, Melody kicked free and threw herself over the seat into the back.

Certain that the other civilian was now taken care of, Cobalt busied himself with securing the carjacker and hauling him to the surface.

It took some restraint to keep herself from gasping for breath once Cobalt had pulled the carjacker off of her, and more than a handful of her hair along with him. It didn't matter. The grade-schooler still stuck in the back seat had gone quite pale, whether from fright or lack of oxygen was uncertain. Unhooking his car seat straps she scooped him up and gave him what remained of her oxygen. Trusting Cobalt to take care of the bad guy, she clawed for the surface with one arm, child held securely in the other.

"HOLY COW!" the child exclaimed upon breaking the surface. "OHMYGOSH! I thought we were gonna DIE!"

"You're safe now," Melody rasped, more concerned about regaining her breath.

"That was SO COOL!" the boy went on. "The way that big guy ripped the door off and squished the bad guy's gun and you kissed us except it wasn't gross even though I think girls are kinda gross but you're a super hero so that doesn't count, you are a super hero right? I think I know who the big guy in blue is but I've never seen you before what's your power? Besides kissing people, I mean? Can you fly? Are you strong? What's your name?"

"Melody," she answered, pulling them both towards the shoreline where the child's mother and younger brother were waiting, shouting and waving frantically.

"Oh cool! So do you to stuff with sound and music and stuff? That's pretty neat. I bet that's really useful. Hey Miss Melody, are you okay? You're bleeding."

She'd only been paying half attention to the boy's excited babbling, only becoming aware of the nick in her jaw when he poked it with an ungentle, chubby finger.

"It's okay, I just need a band-aid," she told him.

"You're bleeding a little here too," he poked her bottom lip.

"That's from the bad guy cooties."

"EW!! Gross!"

The water had finally become shallow enough that she could stand and she waded the rest of the way with the boy's hand in hers. Once close enough his mother swooped down on him and snatched him up in a fierce hug, covering him with kisses.

"Aw ma…" the boy whined. "I'm FINE!"

His mother was taller and older than Melody was and it felt a little strange to be rescuing someone whom she would have assumed would not normally needed assistance. But then, the woman probably hadn't planned on having her car hijacked. Backing off, she decided to let the little family enjoy their moment. Wondering what had become of Cobalt and the thug, she returned her attention toward the fake lake once more.

Cobalt surfaced at the edge of where he could reach the bottom and scanned the shore. He didn't want to bring the man within range of the civilians, unarmed and unconscious or not. Melody's uniform caught his eye first, then the trio of mother and children. They all seemed to be all right. He checked to make sure the thug was still breathing, because it was always in poor taste to kill the bad guy you were supposed to be turning over to the proper authorities. Rescue personnel were now swarming across the park, offering blankets and medical assistance to the quartet on the shoreline.

A small cluster of police officers arrived and waved to him. He waved back, hauled the thug up to his shoulder, and headed over to them. "Cobalt!" one exclaimed, as the man recognized his uniform. "Thank goodness you were here! But -" The confusion was evident. Police were familiar with area superheroes, and he wasn't one.

"I'm just visiting," he said, and dropped the wet carjacker at their feet. "This fellow is going to need some medical attention; I'm afraid I was a little rough in convincing him to give up his gun."

One of the officers waved a paramedic over, and soon the carjacker was on his way to the hospital with an armed escort.

With things in hand, the local authorities having taken the thug into custody and the women's statement, Melody decided now might be a good time to sneak off before the press showed up. As a relatively new hero, she'd stuck to thwarting petty crime such as purse snatchers and convenience store robbers. Something this intensive was new to her. Without Cobalt's help she probably wouldn't have been able to handle it. At least everyone was safe. She needed Listerine…

Her lip and jaw had ceased bleeding and had already begun to scab over. Hopefully Cobalt wouldn't be too upset over it, occupational hazards and all, and she wasn't nearly as bullet-proof as he was. Thank heaven for Edna's suits or she might have sustained more than just a small scratch. Already the costume was more than half dry though the same could not be said for her hair.

"Time to go?" she asked, walking up to Cobalt and smiling.

"Not ready to play meet the press yet, hm?" he asked. "Going to leave them all with the sense of 'who was that masked woman?''

With a gesture, he let her lead the way through the brush and back around the lake to where they'd been walking earlier. Someone had come along and gathered his clothes, leaving them in a tidy pile beside Misty's, tucked safely under the bush she'd undressed behind. "Cleanup is one of the many small services the NSA offers," he observed, deadpan, at her boggled expression. "I swear they employ fairies."


	13. Duet

She giggled as they both pulled their street clothes on over their uniforms, Misty digging in her shoulder bag for her customary jeans and sweater and foregoing the dress entirely

Misty giggled as they both pulled their street clothes on over their uniforms, digging in her shoulder bag for her customary jeans and sweater and foregoing the dress entirely.

"Wouldn't surprise me in the least," she mused, smiling. "As for the news hounds, I'm not sure I want the pressure yet. I'm not good enough to start making bigger stuff like this routine. I'm still a rookie."

It was true. While she'd had some experience in vanquishing criminals, if not for Cobalt, things would have gotten ugly.

"Great job with the bad guy, by the way. Wasn't sure what I was gonna do once he grabbed me."

Standing on tip-toe and stretching as far as she could, she just managed to kiss his cheek. "Thanks..."

A faint flush crawled up his neck. "You would've managed, I bet. But I firmly believe the universe doesn't send us stuff we can't handle. So, backup in the form of me. You did great, though. Thanks for taking care of the kids. I don't know if I could've gotten everybody in time if I'd been by _myself_. " He smiled. "We make a good team."

Misty felt her cheeks warming herself.

"We do," she agreed, her smile spreading to show her broken teeth. She ought to back off, ought to give him his space, ought to at least _pretend_ that she could act like a lady, but standing there so close to him, her hands still hanging off his shoulder, was just too nice. It would be pleasant to hide her face in the silky fabric of his jersey again, to feel his strong arms around her… Oh good grief. She was starting to sound like a dime store romance. Just because she positively worshiped the man did not mean she had to get all swoony. She had more sense than that. At least, she liked to think so.

"I'd say we should fly to the Bat Cave before we're discovered but um…all I have is a third-floor apartment. Care to check out my Fortes of Solitude?" If she hadn't been half-laughing as she said it, it might have sounded a lot worse and Misty mentally cursed herself for it. Ah well, at least Alex knew her well enough that he was unlikely to take it the wrong way.

He laughed. "You need a better name for your lair. It sounds way too much like a villain's hideout."

It was several blocks to the rundown row of houses-turned-apartments in the back corner of downtown where Misty lived. The house was old, probably late-Victorian vintage and purposely built to hold two independent families. However, the row-home had been further split into downstairs, upstairs, and basement apartments. The servant's stairs that led up to Misty's little flat spiraled so tightly that Alex found himself holding his breath for fear his wide shoulders might become wedged. Only upon emerging onto the main area did he let out his breath.

"Well, you're certainly well-prepared to fend off attacks from below," he commented. "One at a time, and all you'd have to do is knock one assailant down the stairs to take them all out."

Misty looked somewhat startled. "I never really thought about the - um-"

"Potential tactical advantages of the apartment?"

"Yeah."

He shrugged. "You get used to it."

"So your place-"

"Charles and I spent a good hour arguing over tactical disadvantages between our top three places before we picked the one we're in. We've only got a neighbor on one side, and he's a cop. The front courtyard locks, and it's a small area, easy to defend. The sightlines are amazing out the back, and then there's the moat, of course. God willing, we're not going to get attacked at home, but you've got to keep it in mind. Goes with the job description."

Misty and her roommate's living arrangements were sparse at best, most of the rather horrible Mediterranean furnishings clearly contributed by someone else. The single-level room had a distinct feel of "hippie" to it despite the heavy, overstuffed couch disguised vainly by a woven blanket and huge coffee table that looked as if it had an inclination to take bites out of inattentive shins. The girls had draped it too with a decorative shawl and placed several thick candles on top in an attempt to tame it. The bare wooden floor seemed to have a definite slant to it, the room higher by at least an inch on one side than it was on the other. What appeared to have been at one point a Persian rug, he couldn't really tell, the length of heavy fabric had become so faded and threadbare, covered most of the pitched floorboards. To the left, a double bed piled high with pillows and throws stood in one corner along with a massive rattan chair, a potted plant in a macramé swing hanging nearby. What Alex assumed to be the bathroom protruded from the opposite corner in the form of a large, white-painted box with a crystal-knobbed, wooden door set into one wall. The girls had covered the architectural afterthought with hangings and posters in an effort to make it less obvious. Two small square windows set between the bedroom and bathroom allowed the streetlamp to peer inside. To the right, a small kitchen area took up one end of the long, rectangular room, consisting of a few fussy old cabinets full of boxed and canned goods, a hot pot, and a wobbly aluminum table accompanied by equally hideous chairs. A narrow set of stairs ran up behind the cabinets through a trap door to another level; Misty was heading towards these and Alex, wondering how he was possibly going to edge up behind her, followed.

Ah, now this was definitely Misty's space. Rather than share the already crowded lower room, Misty had elected to sleep in the attic. While the room was long, it was narrow, its space further limited by the fact that the ceiling slanted at a sharp angle towards the floor creating a pinched, triangular area in which to move. Alex's buzzed curls nearly brushed the support beams at the highest point. Misty had pushed most of her taller possessions against the near wall where the ceiling was highest. This included a battered bureau, her guitar, and a couple of weathered cardboard boxes. Directly under the single, peaked window, lay a neatly-made "bed" consisting of a lone mattress and pillow. A small braided rug that might have at one time been pink lay on the floor. Despite the minimalistic furnishings, the space was clean and pleasant.

"Behold, my Secret Sanctum," she grinned, plunking down on the edge of the mattress and folding her legs. "I'd offer you a seat but um…" There weren't any. That was all right, there was plenty of floor. Alex obligingly pulled up the rug and sat down, idling hoping he didn't crash through to the room below.

"So you finally found a place that was built to you-scale, hm? I like it." He grinned back. "Beats dorm living, at least."

"For real," she smiled back.

"Does your roommate know about your...um... mild-mannered alter ego?" She'd gone out and found a roommate with the same speed she did everything, so he hadn't managed to send her the list of questions that he and Charles had devised when they were hunting for the third roommate who had turned out to be Ray

Again, her expression turned rather blank.

"Uh, no. Truth be told, she isn't here all that much." It was only too obvious Misty hadn't thought much about the tactical or practical implications of Super life. Well, she was new at this. Like Ray she'd only recently come to terms with her abilities and was still getting the hang of both her powers and the double-life they required. Feeling chastened she stared at her lap, picking at a stray thread on the bedspread. A lecture on the in's and out's of Super living wasn't quite what she'd had in mind.

He nodded. "A mostly-absent roommate's almost as good as another super. She won't notice much if she's not here to notice, after all."

"I was just…well, I wanted out of the house as quick as possible, ya know?" He didn't need to know. He really didn't. The fact that she'd packed all of her things into a trash bag in less than half an hour and taken the first bus out of town without leaving so much as a sticky note was not something she intended to confess. He would scold her gently, as he always did, for running away like that, for sleeping the first couple nights in the ladies room of the bus station. It just…didn't occur to her right away that the NSA would provide for her if she needed it to. She was too used to being on her own with no reason to expect help.

He didn't say anything. He didn't have to. Alex said more with his silences than most people did opening their mouths.

"She's cool though, real big on saving the planet or animals or whatever she's decided is the cause of the week," Misty chuckled. "Crystal's a little out-to-lunch, kinda spacey. I doubt she has a clue. We barely see each other most days. You mind?" She'd dug out a slightly crumpled pack of clove cigarettes. "Not as good as tobacco, but I gotta have _something_."

"They smell much better, anyway." He paused while she lit up. "I'm proud of you, you know," he said.

Misty blushed and focused on her cigarette. It was one of few luxuries she still indulged in. While she'd griped about her weight gain earlier, it didn't look like she'd gotten around to replacing much of her wardrobe. Her jeans were new if enthusiastically broken-in, but the sweater had yet to be cast off in favor of an update. The knit had been thin the first time he'd seen it but it hadn't been stretched this badly, the worn, fuzzy fibres doing little to hide her once invisible bosom. Maybe it was another mental block. Maybe she honestly didn't care about how she looked? Alex distantly hoped E would be able to instill some sort of clothing sense in Misty. He rather liked her relaxed style, but he'd feel better if her clothes actually _fit_. Maybe she just wasn't used to having someone there to help provide for her.

"You talked to E about clothes yet?"

She shrugged.

"Well, I don't really need megamesh for daily wear," she said smiling. "I'll get around to shopping as soon as I get some spare cash. I feel weird using my super money for stupid stuff like that. Besides, keeps me from um…" she paused for a moment as she searched for an appropriate euphemism, "impulse buying."

Even on a bare-bones budget that barely afforded tuition, rent, utilities, and food, it was sometimes too easy to sacrifice something important for the sake of her not-entirely-kicked habit. Cold turkey was hard for even the most disciplined people and Misty had only completed the preliminary rehab course at Swallowhaven. Saying "no" to anything was not something she had ever been terribly good at, but she was trying, harder than she had ever tried at anything before.

"At least let me take you shopping to get you a _few_ things that fit you? You look like you're wearing your little sister's hand-me-downs. Or would that be hand-me-ups?" If nothing else, her skimpy outfits were having a disturbing effect on his mental equilibrium. He was supposed to love Misty like a sister, after all, and staring at her chest was _not_ brotherly.

"Eh, I guess." If she'd noticed him staring, she gave no indication. Indeed Misty's lack of awareness was peculiar that way. She wasn't _trying_ to distract him- at least he didn't _think_ she was- she honestly had no idea that what she was wearing might detract from the situation at hand. Despite the sweater's threadbare condition, there wasn't much to see. The pale colors of her super suit were all that showed through.

"If nothing else, one of these days somebody's going to notice that you're always wearing Melody's colors under your clothes."

"I probably _should_ get rid of this thing," she admitted, tugging slightly on the sweater's raveled hem. "I've only had it since high school. I couldn't tell you the last time I seriously went clothes shopping. I _used_ to be able to shop out of the Junior's section," she sighed stubbing out the cigarette and reaching for another one. "Anyway, I'll get around to that one of these days. Maybe I'll even get my hair done."

It'd been months since the initial butchering of her once long hair. It had grown out but was still hung in dreadfully uneven chunks, some sections shorter, others longer, as if cut with a dull set of hedge clippers. Like the ratty old sweater, she refused to alter it, insisting some long hair was better than none. Alex wondered dimly if she was afraid of looking pretty?

"And if you don't, one of these days I'll take the scissors to you myself - or, better yet, I'll call my big sister and have _her_ do it. She's rather better at it than I am." _One of these days I'll work up the courage to _introduce_ you to my family. Hopefully Tasha will want to mother you, rather than chase you away from me with a broom, like she _usually_ does with girls I like. And if Tasha likes you, everybody else will, too - or else. _Alex's oldest sister felt that it was her God-given right as the oldest to boss everyone in the entire world. The first man she'd found who had the guts to boss her back, she married, and they had settled down into a perfectly happy relationship that involved the occasional throwing of crockery. There were two kinds of people in the world, in Tasha's book - people who needed feeding and looking after, and - well - people who ought to be chased out of the house with cleaning products.

"Heh Well it's not like you could do anything worse to it," she chuckled, flipping one of the sawed-off edges of her bangs. The strand, still damp, resettled in its place over her right eye as she stuck the cigarette back in her mouth and pulled.

"Thanks for the vote of confidence. I'll have you know I'm a dab hand with the scissors. I cut Charles's hair, you know."

"I liked it long but I guess I'll just have to go with it for a while. Do you think I'd look weird with my hair shorter? I wonder what your sister'd think?" She was actually more nervous than she was willing to admit about the idea of meeting Alex's family. Not that that would ever happen. She and Alex might be going out but it was difficult for her to imagine it lasting long-term. None of her relationships had lasted longer than a few months at the most and none had ended well, at least not for her. While she didn't believe Alex would willingly hurt her, she found herself bracing for the day when he would announce that it wasn't working, that he needed his space, that she was too high-maintenance, or he had found someone else, someone better. Looking up at him, she couldn't help breathing a small sigh. He was perfect, way too perfect for her, but that didn't stop her from entertaining what-if's and day dreams about what _could_ happen, even if it probably wouldn't. Her sweater might be distracting for him, but Alex's very presence was distracting for her. Extremely distracting.

"My sister will probably think that you look like a stray and feed you." _I hope._

She was staring, but she didn't care. Alex was just one more thing she could never really have and if all she got to do was feast her eyes, well, she was going to look until she got her fill. Not that that was possible.

Downstairs, the door rattled and then gave an ominous creak. Alex started at the sound, moving without thinking into a defensive crouch.

"It's just Crystal," Misty responded calmly, exhaling a fragrant cloud of smoke. As if to confirm this, the door creaked a second time, accompanied by the jostling of metal as it was closed and re-latched. A light step crossed the floorboards and a sing-song soprano "I'm hooooo-oooome!" resounded from the floor below.

"Got company!" Misty yelled down the stairs.

"Cool!" Crystal responded.

"Don't worry, she won't bug us," Misty reassured Alex and stubbing her cigarette. At least, she _hoped_ Crystal wouldn't want to meet the aforementioned company. Not that much was happening, not that she expected anything to happen, but a girl could dream. It was cute how quickly he snapped into Hero-mode, something she sorely needed to work on. Misty had her own set of defensive instincts, but those ran more along the lines of self-preservation than Day Saving.

"Relax Hero-Boy," she told him laying a hand on his shoulder and doing her best not to thrill. "If you think _I'm_ breakable, you'll only have to work half as hard to snap her in half."

It was true. Crystal was tall but willowy, hardly a physical threat to Misty let alone Alex. Belatedly, Misty noted her hand was still on Alex's arm. She should remove it. Except she didn't want to. What she wanted to do was move in closer, put her arms around his neck and kiss him, the better to draw his attention back to her. Except this was Alex and he would most likely either become confused, flustered, or both and would politely disentangle himself and set her down at arm's length, the gesture sweetly, wordlessly asking her to calm down and get a hold of herself. Up until Alex all the men Misty had ever encountered had strong octopus-like tendencies and consequently, she wasn't entirely sure what to do when alone with him. It was both flattering and maddening at once. On one hand, she enjoyed the lack of random invasions of her personal space; on the other, it would be nice if he made a pass at her once in a while. Still, she reflected, it wouldn't kill her to take things slowly for once. Best to draw out her time with him for as long as possible. But that still left her with one hand on his shoulder and staring at him shamelessly, the heat rising in her cheeks along with a rosy shade of pink to match her barely-hidden super suit. Where was the underside of a rock when you needed really it?

"Sorry. I'm just a little jumpy, I guess." Just being around Misty made him a little twitchy, and coming down off of an adrenaline high didn't make him any more relaxed. And she was close, so close. She was wearing something that smelled like peaches and her hand on his shoulder burned hot enough to blister. It was all he could do not to pull her to him and ignore the consequences.

Maybe just one kiss.

"It's okay," she assured him, her hand still on his shoulder. She just couldn't seem to make herself move. She knelt frozen in place, her limbs beginning to tremble slightly with her unsuccessful attempts to make them obey. Maybe she shouldn't have worn her old sweater; the room had suddenly grown uncomfortably warm. The silky fabric of his jersey clung to her sweating palm and the sensation brought a brief shiver. Maybe it was just the way Alex was looking at her, his eyes wandering over her face and figure as if searching for something. Swallowing once she returned his gaze, not quite sure what it was he was looking for. Her hand twitched briefly in an aborted attempt to grip his shoulder rather than just rest where it was. Dammit, she was going to at least _pretend_ she had an ounce of restraint left. However, the feelings she'd tried desperately to keep tethered were pulling hard, clawing and scratching for release. It was all she could do to reign them in while Alex's eyes lingered over her. They were blue; the same deep, bright blue as the super suit masked beneath his jersey.

The tenuous leash she'd kept on herself snapped. Hands and knees still rooted, she leaned closer. Eyes half-lidded, her lips hovering less than half an inch from his own, his breath warm and sweet on her face…

"Alex…" the single word left her lips a marriage of plea and apology.

He kissed her.

It was all the invitation she needed. Whether Alex had intended to stop or not after they'd broken apart would never be known, Misty didn't leave room for the possibility to occur. No sooner had they paused for breath than her lips were on his again. Both her arms around him, Alex sat on the floor to better support her weight and his. She paused only long enough to look at him longingly before going back for more. At length Alex's stunned brain put itself in gear again, conscious thought gradually filtering through the flood of emotions and hormones. Was she…? "Purring" was the only word he could think of. Kissing him again and again Misty seemed to be savoring his lips as if tasting a decadent chocolate dessert, humming a seemingly endless "Mmm…" The note was low and rich from deep in her throat, subtly changing in pitch and rising in intensity as she lost herself more and more to raw feeling. No melody left her lips; instead the sound seemed to be coming from within her, her torso reverberating faintly beneath his fingers with the swell of natural music. The warm and thickened air around them seemed to resonate with Misty's wordless song, the pounding of his heart and rush of his pulse serving as accompaniment for her solo.

He was hot and cold and hot again, trembling with the power of her presence. It took everything he had not to push it past the point of just kissing. He contented himself with burying his hands in her hair, pressed tight against her. A groan escaped his lips, echoing slightly in her open mouth.

Misty mirrored the action, pulling him close and pushing her narrow body against his. The music swelled, silent melody echoing off the walls as she kissed him more deeply. She couldn't seem to get close enough, eventually climbing into his lap, one leg on either side of his waist. Alex might be doing his best to remain gentlemanly, but Misty obviously had no such concerns. Her lips moved from his mouth to his jaw to his neck and then shoulder, her fingers knotted in his jersey, the resonance of her purring making his own chest rumble.

This was utterly unlike anything he'd ever experienced. His various "make-out sessions" with previous girlfriends had left him almost entirely unmoved. Kissing was okay, he'd concluded, but he hadn't quite seen what all the shouting was about. The idea of going any further than kissing had always left him feeling slightly nauseated. He'd wondered, more than once, if he were gay?

Suddenly he could understand everything. The little voice in the back of his head that sounded like Tasha was, as usual, counseling caution. He should slow down, stop, reconsider what he was doing.

For the first time in his life, he thought he might not listen to it.

Misty wasn't helping his thought process either. Her lips traveling along his neck and shoulders, jaw and face made a pleasant tickling sensation even through the soft armor of his super suit. The melody surrounding only grew as time passed, the song becoming raw and primal as Misty lost herself to feeling more and more. Pausing for the briefest of seconds she pulled back enough to yank her sweater over her head and cast it aside. The gesture might have been more scintillating had she not still had her own super suit on underneath. The suit looked more like a dress in most respects, done in pink and frills that somehow looked elegant instead of simpering. While the Colonial neckline left her throat and collarbones visible beneath a sheer layer of tough fabric, little cleavage showed. E had made it, after all, and it wasn't as if Misty had terribly much to show off even now. She wrapped herself around him again, pressing her lips to his, the reinforced areas of her suit gently digging into his chest, making the sensation of her body against his own even more obvious.

He couldn't touch her enough, couldn't get close enough to her, couldn't hold her enough. He was dizzy with her presence, her kiss, her smell, and very little else was penetrating. Super villains could have been attacking the building, and he probably wouldn't have noticed or cared.

It was stifling up in the little room, particularly beneath the double layer of jersey and costume, and he decided Misty had a good idea in getting out of some of it. The maroon-and-gold jersey landed on the windowsill, leaving Cobalt tousled and flushed and kissing her again.

He joked about his "mild-mannered alter ego," but he really felt like Cobalt was almost a different person. Alex, while bold on the ice or the field, was downright shy when it came to personal interaction. Cobalt, on the other hand, could talk to a herd of reporters with as much ease as he saved the day, and he definitely wasn't retiring in any other areas of his life. He smiled down at her, blue eyes shining, and pulled off the top half of his suit.

Misty couldn't help the shallow gasp that brought any more than she could help the sudden rush of blood to her cheeks. Wow. Her brain refused to move forward on the subject. Just…wow. She was staring, she knew, but it wasn't possible to do otherwise. His deeply tanned skin, still dark even after the long winter months, contrasted sharply with the fairness of her cold, thin fingers. She hadn't really expected him to do that, had sort of dimly thought he might kiss her but tell her get a hold of herself. Not that she was complaining. The part of her that was Melody swallowed, the gesture rippling down from her throat through the rest of her body. Misty could hardly claim ladylike manners, but a sort of shy restraint had become part of her super persona. Her alter-ego was anything but "mild-mannered" and she'd told him so, as if he didn't know perfectly well already. He knew what she was and he hadn't seemed to care, that was part of the reason she loved him. Laying her head on his shoulder, she traced the outline of his tricetra tattoo with one fingertip, deliberately tickling him and smiling at the shiver it brought.

Every other time and place it had been about making someone happy so that they would like her, or give her what she needed be it money, drugs, or just a place to stay the night. Except Alex already liked her and she had no idea what it was he might like best. Not daring to risk a mistake and therefore spoiling everything, she snuggled close, deliberately pressing her chest against his (she didn't know a single man who _hadn't_ liked that) and asked.

"What do you want?" she breathed into his neck, the words warm and melodic. "Anything… Anything at all… Anything you want… Just tell me. Please." The emphasis on the last word had been deliberate, uttered in a sort of waifish moan. The sound seemed to linger, caressing him instead of her trembling hands that didn't want to obey. She hoped he'd want the pleasure himself because she didn't think her suddenly rebellious fingers would be able to cope with the reinforced catches of her super suit. Alex, however should have no problem at all. She distantly hoped he wouldn't rip it. That would be extremely awkward to explain to Ms. Mode…

"I think I prefer 'show' to 'tell,' if you want the whole truth," he murmured, and his voice, deeper than usual, shivered along her skin. She could suddenly feel every layer of emotion in his voice, warm and as solid as he was, and it all said "love" at once. She trembled, unexpectedly shy. This wasn't like every other time and place. It wasn't like _any_ other time and place, because he wasn't just another guy, it was _Alex__, _it was Alex reaching up and deftly unfastening the catches on her supersuit, it was Alex's hands sliding her top off and pulling her close again, it was Alex kissing her like he wanted to devour her. His skin was hot against hers, and she didn't think she'd ever be cold again with this memory to hold on to.

He lay her back on the mattress and kissed down her cheeks to her throat, nipping oh-so-gently. She could feel the restraint in his shoulders, in his arms; he could break her like a twig without even trying, but he would never ever hurt her. He kissed her collarbones, and this was safety, it was home, it was _Alex_ and she tangled her fingers in his curls to feel him a little more.

"Hey guys I—"

The air, previously heavy with warmth, suddenly turned stark and frigid. Crystal stood staring, eyes so wide they seemed to take up the entirety of the lenses of her glasses, one hand caught holding up the trapdoor, a dish of brownies balanced in the other. Her mouth opened and closed once, twice, before she managed to get any words out.

"Um, 'scuse me…" she mumbled, hurriedly backing down the stairs, nearly concussing herself as the door fell shut.

For a long moment Alex and Misty lay frozen, staring at the trapdoor, too shocked themselves to process a coherent thought, let alone move. Alex could feel the crimson heat of a full-body blush creeping up from the soles of his feet towards his hairline. Internally his common sense and Tasha-voiced conscience were smacking him upside the head. What had he been _thinking_?! He could have snapped poor Misty in half, not to mention any number of other possible implications that came with such close physical contact.

"Oh my god, Misty I'm so sorry," he mumbled, shame-faced. Misty lay in his arms; face huddled against his chest, her whole body shaking. "Are you okay?"

She continued to tremble, and Alex began to worry, until what he had assumed to be sobs escalated from an abashed chuckle to full-out hysterical laughter.

"Oh my god!" Misty panted around her laughing. "Oh poor Crystal, did you _see_ her face?"

He had. Recalling the memory of Misty's frizzy-haired, bespectacled roommate's stunned gaping, he couldn't help but laugh himself.

"Oh man," he wheezed, "I hope we didn't scar her too badly."

"Eh, she'll get over it," Misty assured him, hugging him close.

"Just as well she came up; I might have hurt you otherwise."

"Pfft," Misty rolled her eyes and waved the remark away. "You may be practically bullet-proof, but that doesn't mean I'm made of glass. We both know I'm sturdier than I look."

"That aside, neither of us was really…er…'prepared'." He couldn't help the lingering heat in his cheeks. "I dunno about you, but unless there's something you're not telling me, I'm not ready for parenthood."

It was Misty's turn to blush. "Yeah, my benefits don't include daycare. I…" her cheeks darkened at the recollection of her earlier behavior, "I'm sorry about that. It's kinda hard to stop once I get going…"

"S'okay," he assured her, "I likewise apologize for the temporary mislaying of my chivalry."

She had to laugh at that. "Apology accepted. I just…god I feel like such a tramp. You'd think I could at least _pretend_ I've got a little self-restraint."

Alex smiled a little at her self-scolding. "Well, if it makes you feel any better, I wanted you just as much."

She looked up sharply, his slightly chagrined smile letting her know his words were true.

"And here I thought you weren't into girls," she teased.

"You're not a girl, you're Misty. World of difference," he nodded gravely, provoking another fit of laughter. "Seriously," he went on once their giggling had subsided, "I think that's why we almost did something we might regret. I know the pep squad only had one thing in mind when any of them went out with me, but the idea seriously made me choke."

"It would gag me too," Misty agreed, sticking out her tongue in sympathy.

"I couldn't even think about being that close to one of them. I thought it might be because I just wasn't into girls; but I think it was more because I wasn't into girls like that."

She nodded quietly. "So I'm different?"

"Like night and day," he said, gathering her close in a hug. "I love you, I care about you, as a fellow super, a friend, a teammate, and… as a lover."

The emotional "squee" at that last word was visible as Misty seemed to light of up from within, though she made no audible sound. "I love you Alex…" she told him softly, leaning her head against his chest.

"I love you too…"

Only four words, and yet a weight seemed to lift as he spoke them. He'd been trying to tell her all night how he felt, and while it hardly seemed to convey enough feeling, enough emotional gravitas, even a tenth of what he wanted to tell her, it was something. He'd managed to spit it out. It was a start.

"I don't…I don't want you to think I'm just some crazed fan girl out to satisfy her curiosity," Misty mumbled into his shoulder, her embarrassment evident through the heat in her cheek. "I don't want… I mean…"

"You don't want it to seem cheap," he finished, supplying the words she couldn't seem to find on her own.

"Yeah…"

Pausing a moment to retrieve her old sweater from the floor and pull it over her head, he gathered her close again, feeling slightly better now that they were both passably dressed.

"I don't think it would be," he told her.

"No," she hurried to agree. "No, it wouldn't, because I wouldn't be doing it for the same reasons. I wouldn't ask that of you. I wouldn't want to make it into a…a…_transaction_. I don't want you to be like what I had before…"

Though conviction had made her voice decisive and strong, Misty clung to him with both arms, pressing close as if afraid he might disappear.

"It wouldn't be," he told her, cuddling her close. "It'd go both ways because we both want the other to know how much we love them. There's no deeper way to love somebody than by giving up a piece of yourself to that person."

"Yeah," she smiled up at him, "what you said."

Laughing, he kissed her. "C'mon, we should go apologize to your roommate."


	14. Unstuffed

It'd been a while since she'd enjoyed a weekend at home. Probably because "home" had now come to mean the guy's place. In the back of her mind she wondered when she'd made the mental transition but almost as quickly let the thought slip away. It didn't matter. Charles still felt a little overbearing sometimes, like a strict teacher you didn't dare cross, and she could never open her mouth around Ray for fear of offending or scaring him somehow, but...they were nice guys. Neither of them would ever hurt her and it wasn't just because Alex was there. Even if she didn't exactly fit, she was safe here. It was a nice feeling to know that. Particularly since practice had gone so spectacularly badly. Now she sat on one of the cold metal chairs of their back porch trying to smoke her embarrassment away.

"Um...'scuse me?"

It was Ray. She knew it without looking up. Nobody else was that needlessly polite. Without a word she leaned and stubbed the cigarette on the concrete. He didn't like the smoke and she'd nearly finished with it anyway.

"Yeah?" she responded, looking up at him. He wasn't actually that much taller than she was, but he was standing and she was sitting and that gave him an extra ten inches or so. Standing there with his hands in his pockets and plain hooded sweatshirt over his slightly wilted white shirt, he didn't look like his usual Napoleonic self. Ray was not a big guy, but he took himself very seriously, too seriously. They were all convinced he'd be giving himself an ulcer in the next couple of years. However, with his hair tossed by the desert breeze and hanging over one eye, he looked about as casual as he ever allowed himself to be.

"Mind if I sit down?"

Misty shrugged. "Your house."

"Thanks."

Not knowing what else to do, Misty stared up at the evening sky, the starlight only slightly lessened by the yellowish light of the alley street lamp.

"I...wanted to apologize. For being such a jerk."

Misty turned her head. Ray was looking at her, an abashed expression on his face.

"For what? You didn't knock me out cold."

"Well, no, but...I know how that can be."

He did too. Ray's powers were greater than his ability to manage them and if he didn't soon figure out a better way to cope... It was a small miracle he'd ever agreed to train at all. Misty lowered her head in embarrassment.

"I'm working on it..."

"I know. You're...you're doing really good." She didn't miss the note of admiration in his voice. "It's...hard...when you're so used to doing something else..."

It had taken almost a year to break Ray of his epilepsy medication. She wasn't sure if it was an actual addiction so much as a mental block. He'd thought he'd needed the medication so he had taken it. Once he'd come out from under its stupefying effects, he'd been fine. Well, better, anyway. It hadn't stopped the headaches or the twitching, but now he wasn't nearly as bad. Was he equating her issues with his own? He couldn't be.

"Ray Kalahearn," Misty gawked in only half-feigned shock, "did I just hear you pay me a compliment?"

He smiled a little. "Don't go spreading it around."

"I won't," she promised, returning it.

"I just... I know I've been kind of a jerk towards you. I was...well kinda afraid you'd be bad for Alex but...like he said, I just had to get to know you."

Misty wondered when that had ever happened but listened quietly.

"I never really got around to that," he admitted, "but...I have been around you. You're not the same person you were when Alex first brought you over. I'm not either."

"None of us are," she told him. Moments like this were rare and while she'd witnessed Ray briefly cracking his shell of austerity around Charles and Alex, he'd never done so directly with her. He nodded quietly.

"Alex likes to save people. He's good at it. I wish I was half that good."

There was a double-meaning there somewhere, it took her a moment to figure it out. He went on.

"I'm sorry for whacking you over the head. You've probably gotten enough fire and brimstone from other people. I didn't understand your side of it and I'm sorry."

He was, the glimmer in his dark eyes told her that.

"It's okay," she told him gently. "I already know I'm goin' to hell."

He returned her smirk, showing he knew it was only a joke. "Not if I have anything to say about it."

She chuckled. "I can do the 'repent' part, it's the 'sin no more' that gets me."

"It gets everybody."

"It doesn't get you."

"How many times have a snarked at you or griped behind your back? How many times have I acted holier-than-thou?"

"Is that today or just the past hour?" she teased. Ray's smile was rueful.

"See? It gets me all the time."

She hadn't thought of it that way before.

"I had no right to call you on things when I'm just as guilty. I...I'm sorry and I hope you'll forgive me."

Misty just stared, finally managing to come up with a stuttered "Uh...sure."

He smiled. "Maybe I'll be able to explain it better sometime. Now that you have an idea what I'm talking about."

Misty wasn't sure she did understand, but this sudden change in attitude definitely said something. What, she wasn't quite sure. Still, as Ray rose and headed inside, one arm outstretched to feel for the door he couldn't see, she couldn't help feeling that the conversation had been uniquely timed. It couldn't have happened sooner and, she sensed, a cold tingling low in her stomach, there might not be a chance for it to happen later.


	15. God is A DJ

Karaoke night at the local club was not how Alex would have chosen to spend a Friday night, but Misty had requested it and how was he going to refuse that? Besides, she'd promised he wouldn't have to get up and try to sing, for which he was profoundly grateful. Charles had come along as damage control and so had Ray, chiefly because he couldn't be left alone by himself. The mere sight of a club usually caused Ray to turn away and avert his eyes. However, he'd loosened up considerably in the last couple months and had grudgingly agreed to come along as an unwilling witness to Misty's twenty-first birthday. It was a coming of age on many levels. She was finally, officially, legally free. Out from under her extended family's thumb, almost a full year clean, and a freshly minted "Hero's License" in her possession, there were a lot of reasons to celebrate.

Alcohol was out of the question for Misty as well as Ray and Charles so they ordered a round of the club's famed smoothies and ate pizza. Misty didn't even get up right away after eating two whole pieces herself. Alex smiled. It actually wasn't too bad inside, the strobe lights and neon aside. The music wasn't even _that_ loud, for a club anyway. Misty was bouncing in her seat along with the heavy pulse of bass line. Ray too seemed to be oddly contented in an atmosphere where he would have otherwise been squirming with guilt. He might not be able to manipulate sound like Misty, but he certainly enjoyed it.

"I want to sing," Misty announced after a particularly bad Dianna Ross impression had left the microphone vacant. Charles made as if to stuff the wads of paper napkin back in his ears but refrained after receiving a gentle elbow in the ribs from Alex. Misty skipped up the short steps of the low stage to where the miniature teleprompter stood. Ignoring it completely, she turned to the DJ who qued up a song.

This should be interesting. Half the reason she'd asked for a karaoke club, he was certain, was for the chance to test her powers. Misty could do some amazing things with her voice ranging in ability to shattering bullet-proof glass to putting a trio of extremely cranky infants to sleep in less than a minute. Already excited by her new freedom and hyped on sugar and the beating rhythm inside the club, she began.

"_I've been the girl with her skirt pulled high  
Been the outcast never running with mascara eyes  
Now I see the world as a candy store  
With a cigarette smile, saying things you can't ignore_"

Charles snickered. Alex had to agree, it was a strangely appropriate choice. For too long she'd fallen between the cracks and had had to force her own way. Now things were finally looking up for her.

"_Like mommy I miss you  
Daddy I hate you  
Brother I love you  
Lover I need you_"

Alex felt himself blushing as she looked directly at him and winked. Whether she had edited the line for him or for Ray was up for debate, but all the same, he felt pleased through his embarrassment.

"_I can see everything here with my third eye  
Like the blue in the sky_"

The change was subtle but impossible to miss. The energy seemed to condense and focus, swirling invisibly into a loose whirlpool over the dance floor as Misty broke into the chorus.

"_If God is a DJ  
Life is a dance floor  
Love is the rhythm  
You are the music  
If God is a DJ  
Life is a dance floor  
You get what you're given  
Its all how you use it_"

Music was a powerful instrument whether most people knew it or not. Now she finally had an idea what to do with her gift. Every eye in the club on her, Misty sang as if she was the only one in the building, dancing to the sound of her own voice. She had missed her calling. She should have been a pop star. Apparently everyone else was having similar thoughts. People were rising from their seats and drifting out to the dance floor, those already there gathering in a close knot below her.

"_I've been the girl - middle finger in the air  
Unaffected by rumors, the truth: I don't care  
So open your mouth and stick out your tongue  
You might as well let go you can't take back what you've done_"

She was looking at their table again but not at him. With a start he realized her eyes- all blue and brown and green and gray at once- were fixed on Ray. Strangely enough, he seemed to be listening, staring quietly right back.

"_So find a new lifestyle  
A reason to smile  
Look for Nirvana  
Under the strobe lights  
Sequins and sweet dreams  
You whisper to me_

'_There's no reason to cry'_"

Another edit, probably to save Ray's oversensitive ears. Holding out a hand to him she went into the chorus again. Without a word he rose and joined the others out onto the floor. Caught in Misty's spell as well, Alex realized belatedly that he and Charles had followed. All the seats were empty now, everyone standing, crowded on or around the dance floor and small stage where Misty stood. The energy was thick enough to touch, to feel, swirling in a vibrant vortex around the clubbers with Misty at the eye of its frenetic storm. She descended the short stairs as she sang, leaving the microphone behind. It wasn't as if she needed it. Her voice already rang in everyone's ears, infectious in energy, almost drowning out the huge speakers. The crowd parted for her of its own accord as she made her way back over to Alex and the others. Ray was deeper into the crowd and so met her first. It was something of a shock to see him dancing with everyone else, particularly considering his antebellum Baptist background.

"_You take what you get and you get what you give  
I say don't run from yourself, man, that's no way to live  
I've got a record in my bag you should give it a spin  
Lift your hands in the air so that life can begin_"

Ray seemed to have forgotten his overly-staunch upbringing and was indulging in freeform movement, his eyes wide and staring behind his glasses. That's right, Alex remembered, he could see the notes. He was probably on the verge of sensory overload but seemed to be enjoying every minute of it. There wasn't a smile on his face exactly so much as an overall expression of joy that seemed to emanate from his whole being. Swept up in the song himself, Alex was only able to focus on Ray and Misty so much, watching them from a distance as they danced, their bodies close but not touching, their movements perfectly matched as if choreographed and rehearsed for months in advance.

"_And God wants you to shake your ass!_"

The song climaxed and Misty faced Ray, grabbing both his hands, their fingers interlaced palm-to-palm high above their heads, and jumped. The rest of the club followed suite, grabbing hands and bouncing along with the music. They were all one organism now, bouncing, pulsing along with the beating bass, voices and feet breathing and beating with the living melody of the song. Heads thrown back, hands clasped above their heads, Misty and Ray lead the musical orgy, their twined voices producing a sort of mental high not found without illegal assistance. The music seemed too loud to bear and yet not nearly loud enough, the deafening vibrations of the speakers already reverberating loudly off the walls, Misty and Ray's voices powerful and melodic over all. It was too much but not enough. This couldn't last, but it would be unbearable for it to end, to stop short… It was too much… He wanted more…

"_Get your ass on the dance floor!_"

A huge cheer went up and didn't stop as the last note left Misty's lips. Applause, stomps, screams, shrill whistles and exclamations blared on every side, whooping and hollering echoing more loudly than the overworked speakers. Ray, however, seemed especially appreciative. Pale and panting, he dropped Misty's hands. Rather than clap along with the others, he threw his arms around her neck and pressed his lips against hers. Alex could only gawk stupidly. Misty seemed to take it in stride at first, her expression turning puzzled and even a little alarmed once Ray finally pulled back. The spell was broken. Even Ray seemed amazed at what he'd done, his face a study in bewilderment until his features grew slack, his eyes rolled back in his head and he collapsed, Misty lunging to catch him.


	16. Reflections

"Hey." It was her turn to sit with him, just in case. He hadn't quite been the same since her birthday party at the karaoke club. It would be a lie to say Misty didn't feel a little responsible for his sudden decline in health. Granted Ray had always been sickly and accident-prone, but he seemed to have gotten worse in the last week. His last seizure had necessitated a trip to the hospital and had only yesterday been allowed to return home. He'd spent the last couple of hours sleeping, drifting around the house, and generally taking it easy.

"Hey," he answered, giving her a weak smile beneath the damp washcloth laid on his forehead.

"How's your head?"

"Better."

"Compared to what?"

A weak chuckle. "Getting hit by a semi-truck."

She gave him a wry smile. "Need anything?"

"Nah, I'm fine."

"Okay."

Ray wasn't exactly much for words and she was never able to ramble at him quite as well as she did at Alex. Charles always managed to rob her of any and all speech, but then she was still half afraid of him. Besides, maybe Ray would rather she stay quiet for a while. Whenever she had a hangover every sound seemed magnified at least twelve times louder than usual. Probably the last thing he wanted was to talk. Ordinarily she would have lit a cigarette to occupy herself, but Ray didn't smoke. Instead she sat and stared at a blank spot on the wall, not really thinking about anything.

"You've really changed a lot since you first came here."

Ray was looking up at her from his place on his bed, dark eyes peering at her from beneath the washcloth. He didn't have his glasses on and it struck her how much softer his expression looked without them.

"Thirty pounds will do that," she joked, smiling.

"I'm serious," he told her. "I…I was kinda a jerk to you initially…"

"Forget it," she waved him off, "you've apologized for that already."

"I was kind of a jerk to you initially," he continued, "because I thought you'd be bad for Alex. Except I forgot, you can't contaminate a paladin."

She couldn't help smiling a little at that.

"He rescued you."

"Yeah, he did."

"I'm glad he did. I'm glad he rescued you and that I got the chance to know you."

"You'd never find out about life outside the monastery any other way."

They both snickered.

"Seriously though," Ray went on, "you've been good for each other. You've been as much help to him as he's been to you."

"I don't know about that…" she mumbled, turning her face and hoping he wouldn't notice the heat coloring her cheeks.

"No you really have. He loves you."

"Well of course he does, he's my friend."

"C'mon Misty, you know what I mean."

"You're just saying that to see the look on my face." She stuck her tongue out of him.

"I am not," Ray argued playfully, returning the gesture. "I've seen you two. He's dead gone on you and I know you've always liked him."

"Ray…c'mon…" She couldn't look at him.

"I'm serious. I…I'm glad you have each other."

Her face burned but not with the emotion Ray would have guessed. "I do like him but…he deserves better."

"_You_ are what he's interested in."

"He's too good for me…"

"I don't think you'll be able to sell that one to him."

"I don't know why not. He's always been the one to scrape me off the floor."

"Then he knows what he's getting."

"Which isn't much…" The heat had spread from her cheeks, down her neck and shoulders and descended further in a hot, tingling line down her spine towards her groin. Before she'd noticed her eyes had grown prickly with tears she was powerless to dam. Dammit, she used to be so good at hiding her emotions…

"Misty…I…I'm sorry I… I didn't mean…" Just as Ray's tears were unbearable to the other guys, so her tears were unbearable to him.

"It's not your fault."

"I didn't want to upset you."

"It's my own damn fault…"

For once, he didn't flinch at the swearing. "That was before. Okay, so you made some bad choices but…that's in the past now, isn't it?"

"It is and it isn't," she choked, wiping at her eyes with one hand. "I just…I did a lot of stupid stuff before I knew you guys and I can't take it back."

"But…you're better now, right?"

"I'm not on drugs; that doesn't mean I'm clean."

A stretch of silence while Ray pondered all the possible implications of what she'd said.

"You're not…sick…are you?" he asked, unable to come up with a better euphemism. It briefly crossed her mind how odd it was to be discussing this with Ray, the guy who blushed and averted his eyes when passing the lingerie section at the mall. She shrugged.

"I think I escaped anything really ugly by virtue of being super. My germs ate theirs or something."

He nodded quietly. "Are you worried he'll find out?"

She shook her head. "I think in the back of his mind he knows. I mean, how could he not, considering what I was like before? It's just…we don't talk about it. Maybe we should but…he…I… I don't want him to be disappointed in me. It isn't lying, not really, there's just…things he doesn't really need to know, ya know?"

It was Ray's turn to nod. "I think I see what you're saying. I don't think he'd be angry or disappointed in you, though. You were just trying to survive, just wanted somebody to love you." He'd pushed himself up on one elbow, the half-dried washcloth slipping from his forehead to the pillow. She couldn't look at him. Turning, she covered her face with one hand.

"Misty…"

"Ray do you even KNOW how many guys I've been with?"

"I'm not asking you to tell me." Thin and gentle fingers found her shoulder and rested there, his grip shaky yet oddly firm. "That's between you and God and maybe Alex. You don't have to confess anything to me." But she was already sobbing into both her hands.

"Ever since I was twelve with no thought of their safety or mine or anything else… I just… I just wanted so much for somebody to love me even if it was only for a week or a few days… But nobody ever did. They just left when they got tired of me. Now what've I got left?"

"Misty…" His other hand had found her vacant shoulder. "I…I know you're not exactly on speaking terms with God right now…"

"Oh what does God know?" she sobbed angrily, " I'm going to hell, Ray, if there is one, so get over it."

"I was going to say, I don't think He would have brought you through all this for no reason."

Caught in mid-sniff, Misty dared to raise her head. Ray sat facing her, his legs dangling over the edge of the bed, holding her at arm's length with both hands, not a hint of judgment, but only kindness in his dark, weary eyes.

"There were a hundred times in your life where you should have died, but you didn't."

He had a point. An ordinary girl probably would have succumbed to brutality, substances, or just plain depression. Be it her super anatomy, spark of will, or the hand of God, _something_ had kept her alive the past twenty-one years.

"I think maybe God brought you through all that, brought Alex and us to rescue you, to help you get cleaned up so you could maybe have a shot at happiness, at having somebody really love you and mean it."

No words came to her, all she could do was stare blankly and listen.

"I don't think it's Alex's disappointment you're afraid of."

Like Misty herself, Ray had the uncanny and slightly unnerving ability to ferret out and state the truth whether the listener wanted to hear it or not. Misty had rather given up on the idea of church and all that went with it after her parents died and life with her extended family had begun. She believed, but she couldn't share Ray's devotion. All she had was fear.

"I'm so sorry!" she bawled, latching onto his shirt and hiding her face in his slight chest. With less awkwardness than she'd expected, he put his arms around her and patted her shoulders.

"I'm not the one you need to apologize to. All you gotta do is say it, and you'll never have to worry about it again. I'll say it with you if you want."

Misty had prayed more times in her life than Ray probably would have guessed- or at least more than she would have guessed he would have guessed. Alone without anyone who was even mildly interested in her health, safety, or even in what she had to say, she'd cried out to the only person she'd thought could make it better. Except she'd never gotten her wish, her prayers never answered. At least, she realized, not right away. It had taken ten long years for it to happen, but she had indeed been rescued, and by the heroic prince charming she'd once daydreamed about, no less. The timing left something to be desired and yet… At the very least, she ought to say "thank you", still more "I'm sorry". Even groveling for forgiveness felt like asking for more than she deserved.

"I can't…"

"Yes you can. It's a pass-fail system," he told her softly, interrupting her thoughts. "Nobody passes without help. All you gotta do is ask."

Unable to reply in words, she nodded. Not lifting her face from his shoulder, she scrunched her eyes closed on still-falling tears and lifted her thoughts to what she had begun to think was only empty air. Maybe it was Ray, maybe it was something holier, but it felt as if she were being hugged from the inside. Out of reflex, she hugged back.

"Easy," Ray grunted. She'd almost forgotten it was a mortal man she was squeezing, a mortal man who was _not_ Alex. Expression sheepish and streaked with tears, she pulled away, allowing him to lean back against the wall.

"Sorry," she apologized into her lap.

"S'okay," he told her, reaching out a hand and lightly resting it on top of one of hers. "Welcome back."

She had to sniff to keep from bursting into tears again, despite the smile she suddenly found splitting through the cascading salt water. Unable to answer, she simply gripped his hand tightly. Looking up she noticed his expression mirrored her own; tears slid down his cheeks, but he was smiling, a quiet joy dancing in his eyes.

"Thanks…"

He leaned back again, releasing her hand. "My work here is done, now I can die in peace."

Though said lightly, she wasn't sure if he was kidding or not.

"You can't die yet, I forbid it. I haven't traumatized you near enough."

A chuckle. "Hey my job is just to make sure people are safe."

"And we are."

"Yeah, you are," his smile had taken on a strange depth, as if she had suddenly become younger or he had grown older. "Can't take anything with you except the people you love."

"Ray stop it, you're creepin' me out."

"It's true," he shrugged. "I want to make sure I'll see you guys up there, that's all."

She nodded. "You will."

"Yeah, I know. Here," he had leaned forward again, though the movement seemed to take more effort, fumbling with what Misty assumed was his T-shirt tag.

"Here." The held out a closed fist, fingers facing the floor, towards her. Not knowing what else to do, she held out her hand and Ray dropped an object into her waiting palm. Upon closer examination she realized the object was a necklace; a short silver chain with a knotted cross strung upon it.

"Ray… I can't take your tags…" He'd once referred to the cross as his dog-tags. "To remind me which side I'm on", he'd said. At the time, the joke had gone completely over her head and she'd no idea what he had meant. Since then, she'd learned just how literal the term "spiritual warfare" could be.

"I want you to have 'em. Think of it as a field commission. I already made my reservations, I don't need 'em anymore."

"Stop it!" The tears were welling up again but for an entirely different reason.

"Misty it's okay, really. Dr. Karl told me a long time ago that guys like me don't last long. I don't mind, really. I've done everything I was supposed to do."

"No you haven't!" she wailed.

"Yes I have." How could he stand to be so maddeningly calm? "I've seen it Misty. You all have lives ahead of you but…I'm not in them. And it's not because I move back home or anything. _I'm. Not. There._"

"Ray…" it was all she could squeak out.

"Shh…" he told her, resting a hand on her shoulder once more and patting it a bit. His grip was shakier than before, but had lost none of its firmness. "Don't cry, please. I'm not going far. I promise I'll keep an eye on you and the guys and everybody. If there's a sign-up sheet for heavenly recon I'll be the first one in line. Just…do me a favor, will you?"

She forced herself to look up and meet his eyes.

"Be happy."

Misty blinked.

"Marry Alex, have kids, laugh, love, save the day… Just…be happy, okay?"

Swallowing hard, she nodded. "Okay."

With a sigh, Ray slumped back against the wall, clearly worn out.

"Tired?"

"Yeah…" His face had gone gray and just keeping his eyes open seemed to have become a struggle. Standing, she helped him lie down and drew the covers back up to his shoulders.

"I think…I over did it…" he panted.

"Sorry."

"S'all right…"

"…you gonna be sick?" He _had_ gone a bit green.

"I don't think… I'm just tired…"

"Sleep, then," she told him. Patting his shoulder, she headed for the door. In the act of turning the knob, she paused and looked back.

"Hey, Ray?"

He looked blearily up.

"Thanks…"

He smiled and resettled on the pillow, his face hidden by the slight curve of his arm and shoulder.

Closing the door softly, she turned and jumped slightly at finding Alex immediately behind her.

"Sorry," he apologized with a sheepish grin. Misty said nothing, only threw her arms around him and hugged him tightly, far more tightly than she would have ever dared to hug Ray.

"I love you," she whispered into his chest.

Surprised and a little confused, Alex simply put his arms around her and hugged her in return.

"I love you too."


	17. Meet the Parents

She didn't say it, but the words were written across her face as if on a page: _Are you _sure _this is a good idea?_

"C'mon," he said, squeezing her hand gently, "they'll love you." _I hope…_

Alex himself was only too aware of just how spectacularly badly this could go. Everyone went their separate ways for the holidays and with Ray gone and Charles visiting his own family; that left Misty with nowhere to go. Since it needed to be done anyway, Alex had broached the prospect of an extra guest for Thanksgiving: his girlfriend. His parents had known he was going out with Misty, but that was about the extent of it and to be perfectly honest, that was about as much as he would have liked his family to know about her. Certainly she was sweet and caring and intelligent (when she wasn't high- which was over six months now), but aside from her endearing personality and cute appearance, there really wasn't much to say about her. The only family she did have were abusive red-necks and well…neither she nor Alex wanted to linger on the details of her life before they'd met. He hoped it would have no occasion to come up.

Misty was fiddling with the strap of her shoulder bag nervously, her other hand gripping his tightly. Even with her freshly-trimmed hair and new shell pink sweater, it was suddenly hard for Alex to dismiss how, well…she didn't look impoverished any more, but was dressed a little more casually than the situation called for. It was a marked improvement over the fashion disaster she'd been when he met her, but suddenly he wished they'd had a chance to go shopping before the visit. Oh well. Too late now. Looking down, he gave her what he hoped was a reassuring smile.

"Just relax, if you can pass inspection with Tasha, you'll be fine."

"Oh well, if that's all," her yet-to-be-capped grin was only mildly strained and she squeezed his hand a little harder than necessary.

"You'll be fine," he told her one last time before ringing the bell.

"SASHA!" The name was shouted on all sides as greetings and hugs were passed around as Alex's various relatives swarmed the doorway and pulled them both inside. Misty had been half afraid that the rest of Alex's family would be as big as he was. While all but the younger children towered head and shoulders over her, it was something of a relief to note that Alex was still by far the largest person in attendance. That did not, however, mean they were not their own unique brand of overpowering.

He was somewhat relieved to discover that most everyone in the living room was extended family, which meant his sisters were probably all in the kitchen. At least Misty wouldn't have to meet them in front of the entire herd. "Family, this is my girlfriend Misty. Misty, this is most of my extended family."

She looked up at him, somewhat nonplused. "Most? You mean there are _more_ of them?"

He squeezed her hand. "I did warn you that I had a big family, didn't I?"

Alex led her through the crowd, all of whom seemed bound and determined to hug him, to the chairs under the bay window where the senior women in his family held court. His mother's mother had taken over the blue armchair that had been left vacant the previous year, acknowledging her new place as matriarch after her own mother's passing. Everyone had 'moved up' accordingly, and his youngest aunt was now knitting in the pink chair that everyone hated. It was ugly and uncomfortable, but it had emigrated from Russia with the family, and therefore no one could get rid of it. "Sasha," his grandmother said, putting down the lace that was the envy of every woman in the family and holding out her hands.

"Grandmamma," he said, and took them briefly before he was obliged to go down the line and accept kisses from all of them.

"And is this your young lady?" she asked.

"Yes, ma'am, this is Misty O'Connor." Moment of truth #1. If Misty couldn't please his grandmother, he was in for a very awkward holiday. She was too polite to ever make a guest feel unwelcome, but he would hear it from every woman in the matriarchs' circle, and he would not be allowed to bring another guest for a long time. His cousin Peter's girlfriend had made a disastrous debut three years ago, and the boy was still suffering the fallout.

Misty swallowed so hard the lump in her throat was clearly visible. Without Alex's hand to hang onto she held both of hers tightly clasped in front of her. Facing the elder females of Alex's family was rather like being presented before royalty, making Misty in her hip-hugging jeans feel more acutely like the misplaced scullery maid she was.

"Pleased to meet you, ma'am," Misty nodded politely, foregoing the impulse to curtsey. Purse-snatchers and criminals she could deal with, but family hierarchy had always been a sore subject with her. Misty tended to become easily intimidated when confronted with this sort of familial power. At least she wasn't likely to accidentally mouth-off.

The old woman looked at her as if she could strip her of her secrets and leave her exposed in front of Alex's entire extended family. "You're the first girl our Sasha has brought home to meet his family. You must be very... special."

"She is special, Grandmamma," Alex said.

"When I want your opinion, Sasha, I'll ask for it," was her tart reply. "And how does your family feel about depriving them of your presence for Thanksgiving?"

Misty's moment of raw panic was nearly invisible. Despite the possible answers she and Alex had rehearsed on the drive over, her mind had gone suddenly and entirely blank. How was she supposed to answer something like that? At length her brain put itself back in gear.

"My parents are dead," she said softly, glancing at the carpet in order to disguise her nerves. "I don't really have any family…" It was true enough. Neither she nor Alex considered her extended relatives to be valid examples of family. She had been only too glad to cut ties with them, but the spectre of blood relations, both living and dead, continued to loom.

There was a murmur of quiet sympathy from the assembled ladies. "Raised in foster homes, I suppose. It's disgraceful how our culture has destroyed the very notion of family... people living thousands of miles away from their homes and families... no sense of community, of continuation." She shook her head. "And then our Sasha wanted to go to college in Nebraska! Nebraska, of all places."

"It was Oklahoma, Grandmamma. Because they offered me a full scholarship."

"Oklahoma, Nebraska... it's all the same to me. Too far to come home for weekends, not that you ever come spend weekends with your grandmother any more. I suppose I'm too old to be interesting to a teenaged boy. When I was your age, girl, I was considered the prettiest of my generation. I had eighteen beaus. But I suppose what's considered pretty has changed in these modern times. In my day, girl, Sasha wouldn't have looked twice at you. You're too thin. Sasha, I'm surprised you let the siren song of cultural thinness lure you in. You're too big a young man to date a girl who looks like a toothpick."

"I'm dating Misty because I like her as a person, Grandmamma. I think she's too thin, myself."

"At least you haven't lost all sense at that college of yours. What do you study, girl? Or are you just waiting for your 'MRS' degree?"

Misty's cheeks had grown nearly as pink as her sweater. If her powers had included teleportation, she would have already vanished to somewhere, anywhere, else as long as it was several thousand miles _away_ from Alex's grandmother. As it was, she shifted nervously; glad the familial empress had drawn her own conclusions about her lack of family. Misty knew she wasn't pretty, but there was no need to rub it in. Tact, apparently, was not Grandma Rushford's forte.

"Er…I'm majoring in music education," Misty replied as evenly as she could. To be honest she hadn't really thought much about getting married. None of her plans had extended much farther than eventually graduating college. Already, through Alex and the boy's influence, she'd done a lot of things she never would have thought possible. Maybe marriage wasn't as far-flung as it seemed? Then again, that would mean facing the imposing, silver-haired lady in the blue armchair on a routine basis and Misty wasn't sure she could deal with that. Only through sheer force of will was she managing not to imitate Ray and collapse in a heap on the floor.

"Education, good. I was a teacher, before I got married. And music? Does that mean you sing, or do you play?"

"Er, both." Misty rather fervently hoped no one would request a concert right now. She had no idea what sort of music Grandma Rushford would be partial to. Probably World War Two ballads… Misty didn't know any Russian folk melodies and it was unlikely in the extreme the elder Mrs. Rushford was a Beatles fan or of any other rock music for that matter. Hurriedly, she scanned through her inventory of songs, trying to find one appropriate should she be required to perform.

"Clever _and_ talented. Definitely an improvement over that Jessica girl, Sasha. Cheerleaders are fine for boys, but a man needs a wife with more to her than the ability to form a human pyramid."

"Thank you, ma'am."

"Go on, then. I'm sure your sisters want the chance to coo at you." She picked the lace back up and resumed tatting.

"Yes, ma'am." He took Misty's arm and led her away.

He managed to free them from the Circle of Judgment, as he thought of his female relatives. It was mostly tongue-in-cheek. Mostly.

He was kind of surprised that he'd been in the house for nearly half an hour and none of his sisters had come looking for him. Especially considering that he'd brought someone with him. Tasha had the patience of a saint, but Anya was as curious as the proverbial dead cat. She'd probably been peeking from the kitchen, not daring to interrupt Grandmamma's interrogation, but wild to meet Alex's girlfriend.

The kitchen was a flurry of activity, and he hung in the doorway, waiting to be noticed. It would not do to interrupt the alchemy that was going on in this room in preparation for the feast to come.

They didn't have to wait long. "Alex!" Anya squealed, and flung herself at him. He found himself surrounded by sisters who were barely willing to take turns hugging him.

"Easy, girls. There's plenty of me to go around," he said, laughing. They drew back long enough for him to hug his mother, and Anya started inspecting Misty.

"You must be Misty," she said, looking her up and down. "I'm Anya." She grinned. "I'm number four." Number four, if Misty recalled correctly, was at least a decade older than her baby brother.

The bustle of the kitchen was even worse than the press of relatives out in the living room. She'd never seen so many people who were related to each other in one spot and it took her a moment to adjust. Misty had no actual siblings but had grown up with her cousins. This, at least, she could draw a parallel to. However, she was used to being older than everyone else. Anya wasn't much taller than she was despite being older and it took Misty a moment to get her brain around the idea. Forcing a rather nervous, closed-lipped smile, Misty nodded politely.

"Yes. Hello."

Too many people. Way too many people, all of them way, _way_ too eager to meet her. Misty swallowed hard as Alex's oldest sisters gathered around more closely, eyeing her with a mixture of suspicion and curiosity. Out of reflex, she tried to edge behind Alex, peeking nervously around his elbow at the three women who couldn't seem to decide if they were happy to see her or not.

Introductions were made all around. Anya, whom Alex had described as "the pretty one," had curly blonde hair, blue eyes, and looked rather like a scaled-down, daintily feminine version of her brother. Her smile pushed her closer to ravishing than merely pretty. Marie, whose wavy blonde hair had hints of red in it, was tall enough to make her feel uncomfortable, but seemed friendly enough. Olga had aggressively short dyed-black hair, and was somehow a more mature version of the punks who smoked in front of her apartment building, complete with a stud in her nose. She scowled at Misty and asked, "Do you eat dinner all the time, or only on special occasions?"

"Olga!" Alex groaned, "can you at least pretend to be civil for ten minutes? It's Thanksgiving."

"What? If she got any thinner, she'd disappear if she turned sideways. You must not be sleeping with her yet; you'd break her in half."

Misty couldn't help the scarlet flush creeping into her cheeks. Despite Olga's accurate assessment of their level of intimacy, it was still embarrassing to have it said aloud. Particularly in front of a lot of family members.

"Did Bran break up with you again? Because the only reason I can conceive of that you might be interested in _my_ sex life is a lack of your own."

"On the contrary; I'm always interested in my baby brother's newest skank."

That hurt. Face burning, she did her best to hide behind Alex.

Alex flushed red, somewhere between embarrassment and rage, and took a breath.

"Olga," came a calm, soft voice from the breakfast nook beyond the kitchen. "She's a guest."

"Sorry, Maman," Olga muttered.

"I'm not the one you owe an apology to."

She sighed. "Sorry, Alex. Didn't mean to suggest your flavor-of-the-week was a skank."

Misty had been called worse, and at the time would have been perfectly willing to admit that yes, she was indeed just a toy. However, such was not the case with Alex. Anger and indignation began to bleed into the wounded shame, causing hot tears to prickle behind her eyes. Blinking deliberately, she did her best to hold them back.

"All right, girls, there's still plenty to do before dinner's ready. Everyone can stare at Sasha's girlfriend while we eat; for now, back to work." Alex's oldest sister swung a wooden spoon at Olga when she didn't move fast enough, but she dodged easily. "Sasha, love, want to wow us with your green bean casserole?"

"Sure," he said.

"Misty, how are you with chopping carrots?"

"I can do that," she replied uneasily, eyeing the spoon. Cooking she could handle. She'd been su chef to her aunt for years, chopping and stirring and performing other more general kitchen work. At least it would let her focus on something other than the prospect of facing down more sisters. She hoped Olga wasn't assigned to vegetables too.

Fortunately, she was doing something involving bread at the other end of the kitchen. Tasha kept her chopping, moving her to salad prep after the carrots were done and simmering in a honey glaze. The girls were gossiping in a mostly-friendly fashion about people and places she didn't know anything about, but she was relieved just to have escaped notice for the moment.

Alex, meanwhile, was undergoing a completely wordless interrogation by his oldest sister. There was something unusual about this girl, and Tasha wasn't altogether certain that she liked it. While she trusted her baby brother's general good sense in every other arena of his life, he'd demonstrated that he had none when it came to women. Admittedly, Misty wasn't exactly the blonde bimbo type that he usually gravitated toward - and that in itself had Tasha worried. Add to it that he'd brought her home for a major family gathering, and the fact that she had the "hum" that she associated with Alex himself, and it put her guard up. She found herself "poking" at both of them, trying to get the attraction straight in her head.

What she picked up from Alex was in itself enough to make her pause. Devotion, up at the top, and the sorts of feelings that normally came when he was talking about hero work. _Oh, no,_ she realized. _He's in full-out white knight mode. Paladin Sasha on his warhorse. _But what could be wrong with this girl that he felt so driven to save her?

Misty could feel Tasha's motherly eyes watching her every move despite the fact that both their backs were turned. Chop, chop, chop, carrots, broccoli, celery, lettuce… There weren't enough vegetables to keep her mind completely focused and she found herself turning to sneak wary glances at Tasha and Alex. They didn't seem to be talking, but there was definitely an exchange going on nonetheless. Tasha was one of those maternal types who seemed to be part mother hen and part Kodiak. Right now she appeared to be in Mama Bear mode, invisibly sniffing at Misty for signs of danger. Despite the tight shields that Charles insisted she had in place, Misty couldn't help feeling painfully transparent, as if she were standing in the busy kitchen completely naked. Her nerves and paranoia were bubbling to the surface rather like the potatoes in a nearby pot, bringing her secrets with them; secrets she didn't want anyone, particularly Alex's family, to see.

Hurriedly, Misty turned her attention back to the radishes just in time to realize she'd sliced the knuckle of her first finger wide open. The knee-jerk reaction was more out of irritation than actual pain (she'd had far worse) and the word left her mouth before she could stop it.

The four letters seemed to echo in the suddenly dead-silent kitchen. All eyes were on her. Misty gulped stupidly, finger dripping little red drops all over the cutting board. No words came to her, not that they could have forced their way past her constricted throat.

Everyone moved at once, and Misty found herself seated at the breakfast bar with a clean tea towel being applied to her finger with firm but steady pressure by Marie while Olga cleaned off the cutting board and rinsed the vegetables and Anya put the salad together. Marie's hands were surprisingly hot, which felt very good to Misty's thin, cold ones.

The entire incident had taken less than two minutes. Tasha and Alex had gone back to their culinary responsibilities. "Make sure you sharpen that knife before anyone uses it again, Olga," Tasha said, frowning at the gravy. "Misty, I apologize for not having done it earlier."

"How is your finger, dear?" Alex's mother asked, and Marie pulled the tea towel back to look. There was a surprising amount of blood, but her finger looked like she had never cut it at all.

"Look at that; it closed right up," Marie said with a smile. "Must not have been that bad."

"Yeah, I didn't get myself too badly," Misty lied around a sheepish grin. While she was far from invulnerable, she did heal with surprising quickness. Dr. Karl surmised it was rerouted power that would have otherwise gone to her vocal chords, most likely a defensive mechanism cultivated as a result of her uncle's extremely heavy hand. Her finger had been slashed deeply, but the cut had been clean and comparatively small and so was already beginning to close itself up.

"Guess I wasn't paying close enough attention." That much was true. She hoped Tasha's unusually powerful radar wouldn't pick up on just how narrow her escape from an awkward explanation had been. At least with her finger bleeding, everyone seemed to have completely forgotten about her verbal _faux pas_. Hopefully she'd be able to avoid such a blunder a second time. However, she doubted her luck was that good. With a nervous smile she accepted a Band-Aid from Marie and thanked her, wrapping the sticky little strip around her finger. Unsure what else to do, she sat at the counter, wishing Alex weren't still engaged in his silent conversation with his oldest sister.

Tasha, meanwhile, was putting observations together and coming up with a not-terribly-flattering picture that nevertheless explained some of her brother's devotion. Desperate poverty and a lack of anywhere to go for Thanksgiving suggested that she was a runaway, probably from an abusive home. She was small enough that Tasha pegged her at fifteen or so, allowing for the malnourishment to stunt her development. Tasha sincerely hoped that her brother was more Gawain than Lancelot, at least where this girl was concerned. She also hoped that the girl had some sense, but she didn't hold out a lot of hope for that. Fifteen-year-olds, even ones in dire circumstances, were more apt to be driven by their passions than their logic.

All in all, it was a troubling situation.

"You okay?" Alex, finally finished with the green beans, came over to inspect the damage himself.

"Barely a paper cut," Misty smiled, displaying her Band-Aid.

"Yeah, but those things can hurt." Smiling gently, he took her slender hand in his and kissed the bandage. Misty didn't fully manage to swallow the giggle that rose in her throat along with the heat in her cheeks. Everyone was most likely staring but at the moment, she didn't care.

"It feels better now," she blushed.

"Good." Alex leaned to briefly peck the corner of her mouth, nearly causing Misty to tumble from her seat in a blissful faint. Blushing like an idiot, she covered her mouth with her free hand to smother the fangirlish giggle threatening to escape. Now was neither the time nor the place.

It was a good thing none of Alex's sisters were telepaths.

Tasha sighed. It would seem, once again, that Sasha's female companion had more hair than sense. She sent him another strong burst of _I hope you know what you're doing_ and he grinned at her over Misty's head.

The connection she and her baby brother shared had never developed to the point of using words. Feelings, impressions, ideas, the occasional picture - she had first started hearing him before he was able to talk, and it seemed to her that it had always stayed at that level. Bright, primary-color baby thoughts. Simple ideas, like, _You worry too much_.

Which made her worry all the more.

If Alex's feelings were bright and bold, Misty's were muddied neutral or faded pastel. Her already less-than-organized emotions had been sent whirling in a flurry of chaos at Alex's kiss but were finally beginning to settle. Her adoration of Alex, absolute and unyielding, was obvious even from without. The rest, however, was harder to make sense of. Nerves, obviously, though that was to be expected in a strange place and surrounded by unfamiliar people she was desperate to impress. There was guilt there too, and Tasha couldn't help wrinkling her brow at the cold, crawling sensation just below the surface of Misty's fluttering emotions. What was it that this girl had to hide? Further, did Alex know the full extent of it? Somehow, she doubted it. Perhaps it might be a good idea to find out…

Misty, still doe-eyed, all her attention fixed on Alex, seemed ignorant of the older woman's eyes on the back of her head.

_Not today__,_she told herself firmly. That kind of deep probing of a stranger would be exhausting, especially if she didn't want her brother to catch her at it. She didn't have the energy to manage Thanksgiving dinner, keep her snarking sisters in line, probe the girlfriend, _and_ clean up after herself. She would just have to pay a visit to her darling baby brother and his creepy little runaway in a week or two and see what she could figure out with some one-on-one time. In the meantime, she would pay very close attention to exactly what was said to and about her... starting with Olga's calling her a skank.

Olga was always nasty to people, and she had an ability to hit people's secret self-doubts that was almost supernatural. She had never quite been able to figure out whether it was a _bona fide_ super power, but it was certainly uncanny enough. So if Olga called Misty a skank, it meant that either the shoe fit, or she was afraid people would think it did.

Tasha also caught Marie giving Misty quizzical looks while her back was turned, which suggested that she'd also picked up on something while she was healing her. Only Anya seemed to completely approve of her, and Anya was easily the most charitable of them. She wished she could pick up on what her mother was thinking about her.

But all of that would have to wait until after dinner. Right now, the important thing was not to burn the turkey.


	18. Extended Family

With all but a handful of dishes approaching completion, the oven timer with only a few minutes to go, Misty and Anya had been sent into the dining room to fill water glasses

With all but a handful of dishes approaching completion, the oven timer with only a few minutes to go, Misty and Anya had been sent into the dining room to fill water glasses. Even if Misty was as accident-prone as she seemed, the worst that could happen was spilled water, and water dried.

"You know, I'm really glad Alex brought you along," Anya was saying in attempt to be both friendly and conversational. "His last date was really obnoxious."

"I know," Misty responded, not lifting her eyes from the pitcher. "She was my roommate."

"I'm sorry."

They both snickered.

"Have you known Alex long?"

"Yes actually," Misty replied, being careful not to overfill a glass. "We had a couple of classes together and I saw him here and there when he was still going out with Jessica, what with living in the same room with her."

Anya nodded. "So how'd he make the switch from Miss Priss to you?"

Misty's smile was amused, but guarded, closed-lipped and never seeming to spread more than two-thirds of its full size. "When she bailed on him, she left me to break the news. He took it well. He did seemed pretty sick of her himself. Since he'd already bought the movie tickets, I guess he figured it'd be a waste not to take _somebody_."

It was Anya's turn to laugh. "Classic guy. Well, you seem a lot nicer than Jessica."

"Thanks, though she's not exactly a tough act to follow. Besides, I laugh at the jokes in 'Holy Grail'."

"Was that the movie you went to see?"

"Yeah."

Anya snickered. "I can't imagine her sitting through that."

"Heh. Me either."

"Perhaps she'd be better off tending a shrubbery?"

The conversation degenerated from there, both girls tossing quotes and references back and forth, giggling so much that Tasha had to resist the urge to poke her head in and tell them to keep it down. At that moment, the buzzer went off, signaling the turkey was ready. Taking the old pewter school bell from the sideboard, Marie swung it a few times to cut through the giggles in the dining room and the low roar of conversation in the rest of the house.

"DINNER TIME!"

Misty and Anya hurried to fill the rest of the glasses and then returned to the kitchen to help carry food out to the dining room. People were already beginning to assemble at the huge tables shoved together end-to-end down the center of the room, all the children in the family crowding around another long table in the hallway. Misty paused and goggled briefly at the mass of relatives crowded into a single room. A new and frightening thought struck her: where was she supposed to sit? Hopefully next to Alex. As if reading her unspoken panic- and perhaps he had- Alex took her hand and gently pulled her over to sit with him near one end of the lower table. Because of the elbow room necessary for a man so large, Alex took the outside corner, seating Misty on the inside with Anya on her other hand. This would have been just fine except Olga was seated right across the table from her along with Marie and Tasha who was a few seats up. Oh well. Hopefully the human fence of Alex and his youngest sister would be enough to shield her from any further snide remarks Olga might make.

As Alex's grandmother said grace, Misty offered her own silent prayer of thanks for Ray's modest religious training. There had been no awkward pause or moment of confusion at the grave intonation of "let us pray". She'd folded her hands and bowed her head in perfect unison with everybody else. She might be a beginner at the church thing, but hopefully her minimal knowledge and Ray's tags would be enough to convince Alex's family that she wasn't a complete heathen. As soon as the "amen" had been given, the silence was flattened by a stampede of conversation and the clink of china and glass as dinner began. Misty found herself leaning back and out of the way as plates were passed and food was served. It was a good ten minutes or more before she remembered that she ought to serve herself as well. Unsure she was ready to venture into the frenzy of feast food herself, she passed her plate to Alex who obligingly began to fill it for her.

"Do you like white or dark meat, dear?" Mrs. Rushford asked.

"Um…"

Apparently it didn't matter. A generous slice of white meat had already been set on her plate. Alex was more considerate; spooning more Misty-sized portions onto the white china.

"Are you sure that's all you want? Why that's hardly enough to keep a bird alive!" Tasha admonished as she passed Misty's barely-covered plate back to her.

"Misty's on the gymnastic team," Alex supplied hastily. It was true. She'd signed up as a way to better train for supering. Misty wasn't very strong, but she was quick and flexible which, if utilized correctly, could be just as advantageous as Alex's brute strength. And it made a good cover for her still excessively thin figure. As it was, Misty was gawking rather stupidly at what was for her, an impressive amount of food, apparently wondering how she was possibly going to be able to eat it all.

"Can you cook, dear?" Mrs. Rushford was still talking.

"Er…" replied Misty, snapping back to reality and hastily searching for her fork.

"You'll be busy keeping Sasha full." Mrs. Rushford turned her attention back to her son. "You eat all you want, honey. There's lots to go around and a whole extra turkey out in the kitchen."

Alex couldn't help coloring slightly at that. There was irony in there somewhere, he was sure. Like Jack Sprat and his wife, only the other way around; Misty could eat no fat and he could eat no lean, but between them both it balanced out. Rather than reply he simply nodded and concentrated on his turkey and mashed potatoes. Beside him, Misty picked carefully at her food, eating deliberately a bite at a time. Apparently her nerves hadn't lessened any. He hoped she wasn't going to be sick. She was slowly working through her eating disorder, but success was hard in coming. It was one of those things that just couldn't be rushed. She had no hope of cleaning her plate, not without being horribly sick afterwards. As subtly as he could, he edged his foot over to touch hers. She pressed her ankle against his in response, glad for the contact if only clog-to-sneaker.

Olga must have noticed the shuffling under the table for she rolled her eyes and gave an uncovered and derisive snort. Alex shot her a look that inaudibly told her to stuff it. Turning, he offered a smile of reassurance to Misty who shyly reflected it, basking in its warm radiance. Olga made a gagging noise and earned herself an elbow in the ribs from Marie.

"Children," Tasha warned, quelling the silent feud before it had a chance to escalate. Despite herself, Misty giggled a little into her napkin, her hidden half-smile forming rosy mounds in her pale cheeks.

The opening silence of a truly delicious meal pervaded for several minutes as everyone busied themselves with their food. While Alex was not a greedy eater and had excellent table manners, Tasha was still distantly amazed at how quickly he could clean his plate. Or had he? Ordinarily Alex would have been politely waiting for everyone else to finish their first helpings before going back for seconds himself, but there was still food on his plate. What on earth? It took only a brief yet perplexing moment to puzzle it out. Misty was sneaking bits of her own dinner to Alex. She was eating, certainly, but slowly and with great attention, as if she had to think her way through each bite. What Tasha couldn't understand was why Alex was allowing her to do such a thing? It wasn't that he didn't notice, because he had. There were only two possibilities she could think of: either Misty was an extremely picky eater and didn't like the food (which Tasha found unlikely in the extreme), or for some reason or another she _couldn't_ eat as much as everyone else and Sir Sasha was simply attempting to help her out of an awkward situation. Perhaps there _was_ something to Olga's earlier remark about Misty only eating dinner on special occasions? Apparently, she didn't even do that.

Tasha probed gently at the two of them, trying to get an impression. Throat-closing anxiety was foremost for Misty, which perhaps explained her failure to eat. She was not only desperate to make a good impression, she was uncertain of her ability to do so. She felt rather like a ticking time bomb, and Tasha wondered what Alex had been telling her to make her so nervous. She didn't think that they were _that_ hard on his friends, female or otherwise. She went to probe a little deeper, and collided with something as unresisting as stone. Startled, she looked up at Misty and caught Alex frowning at her.

_No_, and the thought was as clear as the wall between them. _Leave her alone._

She sent a wave of confusion heavily laced with hurt. Alex shook his head. _Not here, not now, certainly not without permission, no way. Get out._ She found herself, mind ringing, back in her own head.

Behind, above, and through the confusion, was the thought, _When did he learn to do_ that_?_

Carefully, almost shyly, she reached for Alex. He caught her thoughts halfway across the table and stroked them. Love, apology, trust, but still the wall between her and the girl. He loved her, he trusted her with his life, but Misty needed to be protected. Even from her.

_Supers_, she sighed, and went back to eating.

Aside from the handful of words she had spoken to Grandma Rushford and the apology made to the kitchen in general, Misty hadn't said a thing all afternoon. She remained silent even as Tasha's awareness tickled at the edges of her mind. With every ounce of her being she'd clamped down, withdrawing into herself more tightly than a turtle pulling into its shell, not even daring to relax as a secondary barrier rose around her, courtesy of Alex. Silently, she blessed Charles and the training he'd given to all of them. Alex's hand gripped hers tightly beneath the table, his huge fingers surrounding her tiny ones in a firm, but not crushing, grip. She dared not look up to meet Tasha's eyes, to see how the rest of the table had reacted to the wordless exchange. Instead she kept her gaze fixed on her half-cleaned plate, the sight of the remaining food and the thought of having to eat it suddenly making her queasy. She must have gone quite pale for Alex had begun to stroke the back of her hand with his thumb.

_Slow breaths_, she coached herself, recalling Charles' instructions, _step back, find a calm place._ However, with so many eyes on her, it wasn't working as well as it usually did. Stomach clenched, lips parted, she couldn't help the shallow panic breaths her lungs were huffing in and out. Shakily, she wiggled out of Alex's grip and excused herself. The bathroom had been indicated earlier in the day and she made her way toward it as casually as she could. Closing the door and locking it behind her, the noise from the banquet still in progress drifted through. There was no way she could hold the nausea back at this point, she was too nervous and a bulge had already surged it's way into her throat, hot and choking. Even still, she'd have to be careful about this. She hoped Alex would understand it hadn't been on her list of things to do today. Leaning over the toilet bowl, both hands pressed over her mouth, she relaxed and shuddered at the sudden taste of acid. It was disgusting enough to warrant a second reverse lurching of her esophagus. Choking back the urge to heave yet again she carefully leaned and spit the vomitus into the bowl a mouthful at a time. It was disgusting, but less obvious that way. Anyone who happened to overhear would simply assume she was using the toilet in the usual way. Spitting out a last mouthful of bile, she flushed and then rinsed her mouth at the sink. Ugh. If only she'd thought to bring a toothbrush. Cold water would have to do. She sipped a little of it and washed her hands a second time for good measure. Her stomach felt slightly better now, but the rest of her body stood cold and shivering, set on edge by the vomiting. She needed a minute to herself, to calm down, to reground.

She needed a cigarette.

Hoping Alex and his family wouldn't miss her for another minute or two; she snatched her shoulder bag from the over-crowded coat rack and tiptoed out the back door. Once safely outside on the back porch she fumbled for the crumpled pack of clove sticks and trusty lighter. Her hands shook as she lit up, the tremors subsiding somewhat as she inhaled the fragrant smoke, held it, and then let it out in a white cloud that wafted slowly upwards in the chill November air. She hadn't realized how hot it had been inside. She was sweating; the skin beneath her shell pink sweater damp with perspiration; beads of it dripping itchingly down her back. Taking another drag, she leaned against the wall to steady herself. Her legs had become a little trembly after the mental drama in the dining room. She tried not to think about having to return.

Why hadn't he _told_ her Tasha was a Super? She was as good as dead now. They'd never let her in the house again. Mama Kodiak would chase her out the door and down the block with a broom. She would never see Alex again. The thought choked her throat, but with salt water instead of panic. Sniffing hard, she fought against the urge to cry and pulled more deeply on her cigarette, nearly finishing it in one breath.

The back door opened just a crack. She froze, trying to melt into the wall, praying somehow she wouldn't be seen. She had the feeling that Grandma Rushford wouldn't approve of girls smoking. _It's probably just Alex looking for me__,_ she thought.

It wasn't Alex, wasn't anyone she'd actually met thus far. He was about her own age, with short spiky hair quite obviously dyed black and steel-toed Doc Martens under the black slacks. His only concession to color was a dark gray button-down shirt that somehow conspired to make him look paler. "Oh, hi," he said.

"Um... hi," she managed.

He extracted a half-crushed pack of cigarettes and a plastic lighter from his back pocket. "I see I'm not the only one." He grinned at her, an echo of Alex's grin in a stranger's face. She vaguely remembered seeing him sitting down at the other end of the kids' table.

She shook her head. "Way too many people."

"Way too many _judgmental_ people, you mean," he said, and lit his cigarette. "And my mom glaring daggers at me from the other table, to make sure I 'behave.'" He rolled his eyes. "I'm Justin."

"Misty."

"You're Alex's girlfriend, right? No wonder you're out here; if I had the Bear Clan ganging up on me, I'd have hit the door two hours ago."

She giggled and took a nervous drag. "The Bear Clan?"

"Yeah. At least, that's the _nice_ term for them. Big, mean, and _way_ too protective of their not-so-little brother. You should've seen 'em when we were little. This one time, Alex and me were wrestling, and I caught him with my elbow and made his nose bleed. The way Tasha carried on, you'd think I'd killed him." He shook his head. "If Alex ever gets married, it won't be because of anything _they_ do, I'll tell you. Um. No offense meant."

"Er, none taken," she replied, not even entirely sure what he'd meant by that. She decided to let it slide. "I know I'm not exactly what they're used to, or what they had in mind. I just…" Rather than attempt to finish, she put her cigarette to her mouth and exhaled the smoke in a sigh.

"I know," Justin agreed around a mouthful of rolled paper. He smoked standard tobacco and while the bitter scent made her nose wrinkle, a corner of her brain begged to bum a smoke.

_No_ she told herself firmly, _we're_ supposedi _to be quitting_.

"They seem nice though," she said at length, attempting to be judicious. "I guess I can't really blame them for being suspicious." She offered Justin a lopsided half-smile, the pull of her cheek exposing her broken teeth. At least he seemed to be on her side, though she wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not.

"Tasha brings suspicion to a whole new level. Nobody's worthy of dating her precious baby - you'd think he was her son, rather than her brother. But you're doing okay."

"I'm not used to so many people," she went on, rambling, as she often did when nervous. "I don't have any family, not really. All I've ever done at holidays is wait tables and do dishes." Dropping her cigarette stub, she scuffed it out with the toe of one clog and reached for another. "Kinda weird to actually sit at the table, let alone with the grownups." She really ought to shut up. He didn't need to know things like that, and yet a sympathetic ear after the last few hours was a welcome respite from Alex's sisters' critical stares.

They stood and smoked for a moment, each concerned with their own thoughts.

"I should go back in, I guess…" Misty said at length, eyeing her cigarette stub and wondering if there was one more drag left in it. "But I'm not sure I can…or that I should…" The sideways looks of the extended family aside, it was Tasha's mental prodding that unnerved her the most. If she should find out… Misty shuddered and dropped the cigarette butt, grinding it firmly into the concrete. "Maybe I'll go wait in the car and save them the trouble of chasing me out."

"Oh, they'd never do that. Especially since Grandma liked you. Nah, they won't do anything _active_ to express their dislike; they'll just make you _want_ to run out the door. But if you're going to be going out with Alex seriously, you'll just have to get used to each other. And speak of the devil. I was wondering when you were going to come looking for her."

Alex stepped all the way out onto the porch. "You okay?" he asked.

Justin ground out his cigarette butt on the porch railing, tucked it into his pocket, gave them a cheery mock-salute, and went back into the house, leaving them alone.

Alex held out his arms and Misty half-collapsed into them, leaning gratefully into his strength. She could feel the slippery texture of his supersuit beneath the soft fabric of his dress shirt, and it was such a familiar, ordinary sensation that it nearly made her cry. "You didn't tell me your sister was a Super," she said into his chest.

"No more than I told her that you were one, love." He stroked her hair. "Not my secret to tell."

It was the first time she'd actively run into that particular part of the Super Code in real life. _A Super never reveals another Super's secret identity._ It apparently even applied to sisters and girlfriends.

"I suppose it was silly of me to think you would be the only one in your family."

She felt his chest flex under her cheek as he shrugged. "There are plenty of supers who have normal siblings. Sometimes lightning strikes twice; sometimes it doesn't."

"Right…" she mumbled, once again backhanded by her own stupidity. She supposed she really should have anticipated at least one other super in Alex's family, but she was still new at this darnit, and such things just didn't occur to her right away. Giving a heavy sigh, she snuggled against him more closely.

"I just…she…" Her voice caught and she inhaled sharply, holding her breath that she might hold her tears. "I don't think she likes me…" she faltered, words choked. "What if…" She didn't bother to finish the sentence. Alex knew perfectly well "what if". There were certain things other people just didn't need to know. It wasn't until she sniffed, jerking air inward and tasting salt, that she realized she was crying.

"I'm so sorry Alex," she sobbed, her voice diminished to a tiny soprano tremble. "I'm sorry, I can't do this. I can't. I'm sorry I just can't…" She was going to leave damp spots on his shirt. In vain she tried to calm herself, scrubbing at her eyes with her hands. Her shields wavered and she struggled to get a grip on herself, certain Alex, Tasha, and everyone else in a ten block radius could feel the shame burning in the pit of her stomach, her cold inadequacy, and absolute terror at the thought of having to go back inside and face his family again. They would hate her, she was certain, if they didn't already.

"Hey, now." He stroked her hair, holding her tight against him, heedless of any damage she might do to his clothes. "You're doing fine, sweetie. My grandmother loves you, my mom likes you, and Tasha's just worried about us. Once I assure her that you're not as young as you look and I do know what I'm doing, she'll be fine. Don't worry, honey." He kissed the top of her head, and she melted.

_If it gets him to be all affectionate, I'll totally fall to pieces more often,_ she thought, only half-joking. Alex was big on personal space, and giving her a respectful distance, but Misty craved physical contact in a way she couldn't explain to him without seriously embarrassing both of them.

"Tell you what," he continued, seemingly unaware of her reaction, "dinner's almost finished. We'll stay through the pie, and then we'll get out of here, okay? I won't even make you stay through the ritualistic Debate About Christmas."

"Debate about Christmas?" she asked, sniffling.

"Yeah. Happens every year. As soon as the plates are cleared away, the women in my mother's generation start competing to host Christmas dinner. They're all insane, I tell you."

"This- happens _more than once a year?_"

"Nope. Also a tradition - my mom hosts Thanksgiving, and then we have Christmas with just the immediate family. I don't think she can stand any of my aunts' cooking."

Misty considered the possibility of spending Christmas dinner with no one but Alex to stand between her and the Bear Clan, and blanched. "Can we go somewhere else for Christmas? Like Alaska?"

Alex chuckled. "We'll let Christmas take care of itself for now, okay? Let's just get through the rest of Thanksgiving. C'mon, honey, you haven't lived until you've had a piece of Olga's pumpkin pie. She's the world's single biggest bit- um - pain in the neck - but her pie-baking ability _almost_ makes up for it."

Misty secretly wondered if the aforementioned pie might contain a tablespoon of arsenic as the secret ingredient, but then Olga wasn't likely to have been informed beforehand that Misty would be coming to dinner so it was _probably_ safe. Despite that and having to forfeit her dinner, she didn't feel very hungry or much like eating. Still, if Alex wanted pie, then pie it would be.

"Okay," she sighed, snuggling against the warmed cotton of his shirt. Misty might have tenacity of spirit, but Alex was visibly, tangibly, literally strong. Super villains might not appreciate that strength, but Misty did. Standing there in Alex's arms, she felt safe for the first time all day, wishing they could continue to just stand where they were, not having to move or even speak, just enjoy each other's presence. Something occurred to her.

"Just how young _do_ I look?" she asked, perplexed. "Is that why she was poking at me? To see if I've got a thing for 'older men'?" Misty made a face. "God, maybe I should just…talk to her or something and get it over with. I know she doesn't trust me. I guess I wouldn't either…"

With a deep sigh she tightened her arms around him briefly, resting her cheek against his chest, attempting to steel herself for a second encounter with Alex's Kodiak sisters.

"Right. Pie."

He stroked her hair and tightened his arms around her one last time before letting her go. "You'll be fine."


End file.
